Classic Poem

I HEAR the rumble of the distant drum —
The armies of the Lord are on the march;
The horse hoofs clatter through the echoing arch —
I cannot rise — my feet are bound and numb —
I cannot call — my lips are gagged and dumb —
A prisoner in these brazen walls, I hear
The shout that tells me that the Lord is near,
The clarion-call that cries — We are come, we are come.

I hear them pass beneath the prison wall,
The clash and clangour of the proud array;
And then the mailed footsteps fainter fall,
And one by one the voices die away;
And then I lift my fettered hands, and say,
" I know the hour will come which pays for all."