Jewish Battle Song.
03

Ho! Princes of Jacob! the strength and the stay
Of the daughter of Zion,-now up, and array;
Lo, the hunters have struck her, and bleeding alone

Like a pard in the desert she maketh her moan:

Up, with war-horse and banner, with spear and with sword, On the spoiler go down in the might of the Lord!

She lay sleeping in beauty, more fair than the moon,
With her children about her, like stars in night's noon,
When they came to her covert, these spoilers of Rome,
And are trampling her children and rifling her home:
O, up, noble chiefs! would you leave her forlorn,
To be crush'd by the Gentile, a mock and a scorn?

Their legions and cohorts are fair to behold,
With their iron-clad bosoms and helmets of gold;
But gorgeous and glorious in pride though they be,
Their avarice is broad as the grasp of the sea;
They talk not of pity; the mercies they feel
Are cruel and fierce as their death-doing steel.

Will they laugh at the hind they have struck to the earth,
When the bold stag of Naphtali bursts on their mirth?
Will they dare to deride and insult, when in wrath
The lion of Judah glares wild in their path?

O, say, will they mock us, when down on the plain
The hoofs of our steeds thunder over their slain?

JEWISH BATTLE SONG.

They come with their plumes tossing haughty and free,

And white as the crest of the old hoary sea;

Yet they float not so fierce as the wild lion's mane,

To whose lair ye have track'd him, whose whelps ye have slain;

But, dark mountain archer! your sinews to-day

Must be strong as the spear-shaft to drive in the prey.

And the tribes are all gathering;-the valleys ring out

To the peal of the trumpet,—the timbrel-the shout:
Lo, Zebulon comes! he remembers the day

When they perill'd their lives to the death in the fray;
And the riders of Naphtali burst from the hills
Like a mountain-swollen stream in the pride of its rills.

Like Sisera's rolls the foe's chariot wheel,

And he comes, like the Philistine, girded in steel;
Like both shall he perish, if ye are but men,
If your javelins and hearts are as mighty as then;
He trusts in his buckler, his spear and his sword;
His strength is but weakness; we trust in the Lord!

GEORGE LUNT.

The Harvest of the Lord.

THE angel comes, he comes to reap
The harvest of the Lord!

O'er all the earth, with fatal sweep,
Wide waves his flaming sword.

And who are they in sheaves, to bide
The fire of vengeance, bound?
The tares, whose rank luxuriant pride
Choked the fair crop around.

And who are they reserved in store,

God's treasure-house to fill?
The wheat, a hundred fold that bore
Amid surrounding ill.

O King of mercy! grant us power

Thy fiery wrath to flee!

In thy destroying angel's hour

Oh, gather us to thee!

MILMAN.

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