IV.
When Israel’s race from bondage fled,
Signs from on high the wanderers led;
But here—Heaven hung no symbol here,
Their steps to guide, their souls to cheer;
They saw, thro’ sorrow’s lengthening night,
Nought but the fagot’s guilty light;
[p5]
The cloud they gazed at was the smoke,
That round their murdered brethren broke.
Nor power above, nor power below,
Sustained them in their hour of wo;
A fearful path they trod,
And dared a fearful doom;
To build an altar to their God,
And find a quiet tomb.