Angel of God! that through th'Assyrian host, Wilt Thou not wake, O Chastener, in Thy might, Fearless of Thee, the plunderer, undismayed, Away, intruders!—hark! a mighty sound! His neck is clothed with thunder, and his mane Is as a meteor; ardent with disdain His glance; his gesture, fierce in majesty! Instinct with light he seems, and formed to bear But who is he, in panoply of gold, Throned on that burning charger? Bright his form, Yet in its brightness awful to behold, And girt with all the terrors of the storm! And by his side two radiant warriors stand Then sinks each gazer's heart; each knee is bowed Bursts on their leader in terrific might; Darkness-thick darkness!-low on earth he lies, Bloodless his cheek, and o'er his shrouded eyes Mists, as of death, suspend their shadowy veil; And thus the oppressor by his fear-struck train Is borne from that inviolable fane. The light returns-the warriors of the sky Have passed, with all their dreadful pomp, away; Then wakes the timbrel, swells the song on high, Triumphant as in Judah's elder day. Rejoice, O city of the sacred hill! Salem, exult! thy God is with thee still! FELICIA D. HEMANS |