When his soul yielded to affliction’s power,
And the winds bore his dying cry abroad—
“Hast thou forsaken me, my God! my God?”—
E’en thus the monarch stood; his prayer arose,
Thus calling down forgiveness on his foes—
“To Thee my spirit I commend,” he cried;
“And my lost people, Father! be their guide!”
But the sharp steel descends—the blow is given,
And answer’d by a thunder-peal from heaven;