The haughty foe's insulting chain?
A holy storm o'er earth and billow
Is rushing through the midnight hour;
To stir the sleeper from his pillow,
It roars round city, camp, and tower,
In wailful cry from battlements,--
Up, tardy Christian, get thee hence.
Lo, angels everywhere commanding
With solemn faces, voicelessly,--
And pilgrims at the gates are standing