d. REVEALED IN HISTORICAL EVENTS

THE HOST OF SENNACHERIB

LORD BYRON

The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,
When the blue wave rolls nightly o'er deep Galilee.

Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen; Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved and forever grew still!

And there lay the steed with his nostrils all wide,
But through them there rolled not a breath of his pride,
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.

And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail;
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.

And the widows of Asshur are loud in their wail,
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;
And the might of the Gentile unsmote by the sword,
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!

BOSTON HYMN

RALPH WALDO EMERSON

The word of the Lord by night
To the watching pilgrims came,
As they sat by the seaside,

And filled their hearts with flame.

God said, I am tired of kings,
I suffer them no more;

Up to my ear the morning brings
The outrage of the poor.

Think ye I made this ball

A field of havoc and of war,

Where tyrants great and tyrants small

May harry the weak and poor?

My angel, his name is Freedom,-
Choose him to be your king;

He shall cut pathways east and west,
And fend you with his wing.

Lo! I uncover the land

Which I hid of old time in the West, As the sculptor uncovers the statue When he has wrought his best;

I show Columbia, of the rocks
Which dip their foot in the seas
And soar to the airborne flocks
Of clouds and the boreal fleece.

I will divide my goods;

Call in the wretch and the slave:
None shall rule but the humble,
And none but Toil shall have.

I will have never a noble,
No lineage counted great;

Fishers and choppers and plowmen
Shall constitute a state.

Go, cut down trees in the forest
And trim the straightest boughs;
Cut down trees in the forest
And build me a wooden house.

Call the people together
The young men and the sires,
The digger in the harvest field,
Hireling and him that hires.

And here in a pine state-house
They shall choose men to rule
In every needful faculty,

In church and state and school.

Lo, now! if these poor men

Can govern the land and sea

And make just laws below the sun,
As planets faithful be.

And ye shall succor men;

'Tis nobleness to serve;

Help them who cannot help again:
Beware from right to swerve.

I break your bonds and masterships, And I unchain the slave:

Free be his heart and hand henceforth

As wind and wandering wave.

I cause from every creature
His proper good to flow;
As much as he is and doeth
So much shall he bestow.

But, laying hands on another
To coin his labor and sweat,
He goes in pawn to his victim
For eternal years in debt.

Today unbind the captive,
So only are ye unbound;
Lift a people from the dust,
Trump of their rescue, sound!

Pay ransom to the owner
And fill the bag to the brim.

Who is owner? The slave is owner,
And ever was. Pay him.

O North! Give him beauty for rags And honor, O South! for his shame; Nevada! Coin thy golden crags With Freedom's image and name.

Up! and the dusky race

That sat in the darkness long,—
Be swift their feet as antelopes,
And as Behemoth strong.

Come, East and West and North,
By races, as snow flakes,

And carry my purpose forth,
Which neither halts nor shakes.

My will fulfilled shall be,
For, in daylight or dark,
My thunderbolt has eyes to see
His way home to the mark.

WHO FOLLOWS IN HIS TRAIN?

REGINALD HEBER

The Son of God goes forth to war,

A kingly crown to gain;

His blood-red banner streams afar;
Who follows in his train?

Who best can drink his cup of woe,
Triumphant over pain,

Who patient bears his cross below:
He follows in his train!

That martyr first, whose eagle eye
Could look beyond the grave,
Who saw his master in the sky,
And called on him to save;

Like him with pardon on his tongue,

In midst of mortal pain,

He prayed for those that did the wrong; Who follows in his train?

A noble band the chosen few,

On whom the Spirit came,

Twelve valiant souls their hope they knew, And mocked the torch of flame;

They met the tyrant's brandished steel,

The lion's gory mane,

They bowed their necks the stroke to feel; Who follows in their train?

A noble army, men and boys,
The matron and the maid,
Around the throne of God rejoice,
In robes of light arrayed.