THOU beast of the flood, who hast said in thy soul, 'I have made me a stream that for ever shall roll!' Thy strength is the flower that shall last but a day, And thy might is the snow in the sun's burning ray. Arm, arm from the east, Babylonia's son! Arm, arm for the battle -- the Lord leads thee on! With the shield of thy fame, and the power of thy pride, Arm, arm in thy glory -- the Lord is thy guide. Thou shalt come like a storm when the moonlight is dim, And the lake's gloomy bosom is full to the brim; Thou shalt come like the flash in the darkness of night, When the wolves of the forest shall howl for affright. Woe, woe to thee, Tanis! thy babes shall be thrown By the barbarous hands on the cold marble-stone: Woe, woe to thee, Nile! for thy stream shall be red With the blood that shall gush o'er thy billowy bed! Woe, woe to thee, Memphis! the war-cry is near, And the child shall be toss'd on the murderer's spear; For fiercely he comes in the day of his ire, With wheels like a whirlwind, and chariots of fire! |