And stilled for aye their every boast.
In Cromwell's camp all night was heard
The voice of prayer in tones which stirred
The tender hearts of "Ironside" men,
As never can be told by pen.
Ere shone the first faint streak of morn,
The Scots beneath the shocks of corn,
Stretched out full length in quiet sleep,
Hear a loud blast, and upward leap
To seize their arms and face the foe.