High from his lofty throne
The impious tyrant cries,
"Fall down, ye men of earth,
Revere the image of your King and God."
Faith stood firm.
"Heap the fierce furnace high,"
(The angry despot cries)
"Fan the red flames till the hot furnace pales,
Sick'ning itself with heat."
The fire flames fierce!
Amid the pallid flames
The faithful friends are hurl'd!
But blasted fall the slaves,
The slaves of tyranny:
God stretch'd the robe of preservation forth,
And mantled o'er his sons.
Amid the lions hurl'd,
In conscious faith serene the prophet lay.
Nor Daniel knew to fear,
Nor did his pale limbs quiver with affright;
He dar'd for God to die,
And Heaven, for ever good, preserv'd the seer:
The gaunt beasts, famine-fall'n,
Creep at his feet, and suppliant lick his hand.
Sons of my age, look back;
Call up the shadowy scenes
Of ages now no more:
For never, since yon font of light
First shed the new-born stream,
For never, since the breath of life
Breath'd through the realms of space,
Has Virtue trusted in her god in vain.
Amid the storm serene she goes,
Nor heeds black Malice' sharpest shafts,
Nor Envy's venom'd tooth;
The warring winds roar round her head,
Nor knows the constant maid to fear,
But lifts her looks to God.
Not 'till the sun, for ever quench'd,
In darkness cease to shine;
'Till nature feel no more the breath
Of life pervade her frame;
'Till Time himself expir'd
Sink in eternity,
Shall Faith be firm in vain.
Now then, indeed, be men,
Grasp firm the shield of Faith,
Lift high the sword of Hope,
Nor fear yon haughty tyrant's impious vaunts;
To-day elate he stalks,
Lifts his tiared brows,
Self-deem'd a more than man:
To-morrow, fall'n in dust,
Food for the worm corrupt,
Sunk to primeval nothing, low he lies.
And, sometimes, when your lips repeat the deeds
Your forefathers achiev'd,
Of me the meanest think, not wholly mean:
Let Mattathias' name
Full-fill your souls with fire,
Recal that hour to view
When this indignant hand
Drench'd deep my dagger in apostate blood.
Even at the altar's foot
The tyrant chief I stabb'd,
I hurl'd the altar down.
Nor then, in sacred sloth subdued,
Upon the sabbath fell we unreveng'd.
We serv'd our God in fight,
We sacrific'd his foes,
We pray'd amid the war.
Then through these limbs burnt high
Indignant valour's flame;
Then glow'd the lamp of life,
Now pale and wavering as the dews of death,
Slow quench its fading light.
God of my fathers, thou hast seen my life
Worn in defence of thee;
Thou hast beheld me firm in danger's face,
Maintain thy holy cause,
Amid embattled hosts
Defend thy mystic rites.
Now to the unknown world,
Unchill'd by fear, I sink;
And whilst my chilly limbs grow faint,
Whilst Death's dull mists bedim my eye,
Hope lifts my soul to thee.
