They are here! They rush on! We are broken! We are gone! 25
Our left is borne before them like stubble on the blast,
O Lord, put forth thy might! O Lord, defend the right!
Stand back to back, in God’s name, and fight it to the last.
Stout Skippon hath a wound; the centre hath given ground:
Hark! hark!—What means the trampling of horsemen on our rear? 30
Whose banner do I see, boys? ’Tis he, thank God, ’tis he, boys.
Bear up another minute: brave Oliver is here.
Their heads all stooping low, their points all in a row,
Like a whirlwind on the trees, like a deluge on the dykes,