A wild, wet night, historians say.
Quit you like men, and bravely stand;
Death's wrestle now is close at hand;
Heed not the hoarse sea's doleful moan,
As on the cliffs its waves are thrown.
Think not of life nor kindred dear—
Who goes to war should nothing fear
But God, whose eye-lids never sleep—
His Israel He will safely keep.
Oh, pray! but keep your powder dry—