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168 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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Praise to the Conqueror, praise to the Lord !
His word was our arrow, his breath was our sword.—
Who shall return to tell Egypt the story
Of those she sent forth in the hour of her pride ? For the Lord hath looked out from his pillar of glory,
And all her brave thousands are dashed in the tide. Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea, Jehovah has triumphed—his people are free ! |
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THE HARP THAT ONCE THROUGH TARA'S HALLS
THE harp that once through Tara's halls The soul of music shed Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls As if that soul were fled. So sleeps the pride of former days,
So glory's thrill is o'er, And'hearts that once beat high for praise Now feel that pulse no more. |
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No more to chiefs and ladies bright
The harp of Tara swells; The chord alone, that breaks at night,
Its tale of ruin tells. Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes,
The only throb she gives Is when some heart indignant breaks,
To show that still she lives. |
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