Poetry.
For the Table Book.
THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB’S ARMY.
And it came to pass that night, that the Angel of the Lord went out, and smote in the camp of the Assyrians an hundred fourscore and five thousand: and when they arose early in the morning, behold, they were all dead corpses!—2 Kings, xix. 35.
The sun in his beauty had sunk to rest,
And with magic colours illumin’d the west,
Casting o’er the temple his brightest gold,
The temple,—Jehovah’s dwelling of old:
The flowers were clos’d by the evening breeze,
That sadly sigh’d through Lebanon’s trees;
The moon was up, so pale and bright,
(She look’d more beautiful that night,)
Whilst numerous stars were round her gleaming—
Stars in silent beauty beaming.
The Fiend of Fear his dark wings spread
O’er the city of God, and fill’d it with dread;
But the king at the altar prostrate lay,
And plac’d on Jehovah’s arm his stay;
In anxious watching he pass’d the night,
Waiting the return of the morning light,
When forth his embattled hosts should move,
The power of Jehovah on the Heathen to prove!
The Assyrian hosts were proud in their might,
And in revelry spent the commencement of night,
’Till the power of wine o’er their coward-souls creeping,
Each man in his armour lay prostrate, sleeping!
At the midnight watch the angel of God
O’er the Assyrian camp spread his wings abroad:
On his brow was plac’d a crown of light,
Which shone like a meteor in the gloom of night,
And quench’d, with its brightness, the moon’s pale sheen,
Which her sickly rays flung over the scene:
His flowing robe in large folds roll’d,
Spangled with gems and bright with gold!
As over the Assyrian camp he pass’d,
He breathed upon them a poisonous blast—
It blanch’d their cheeks-and without a groan
Each soul was hurried to his long, long home!
At the morning watch in the Assyrian camp
Was heard no sound of the war-horse tramp!
The bright sun rose, like a bridegroom dress’d,
And illumin’d the camp from east to west;
But there was no spear in his bright beam gleaming,
Nor polish’d mail his reflected light streaming:
The spear and the armour were cover’d with rust,
And prostrate the warrior lay down in the dust!
To arms! to arms! the trumpet sounded—
The echoes in mockery the blast resounded!
Sennacherib waited his embattled host,
The pride of his heart and his impious boast;—
The trumpet was sounded again and again,
Its shrill notes echoing o’er the prostrate slain;—
But his bands were bound in the slumber of death,
Nor heeded the war-stirring clarion’s breath!
The angel of God had pass’d over the host—
In the grasp of Death lay Sennacherib’s host!
O. N. Y.
July, 1827.
For the Table Book.