Chorus of Israelites
See, the proud Chief advances now,
With sullen March and gloomy Brow:
Jacob, arise, assert thy God,
And scorn oppression’s Iron Rod.
Deborah, Barak, Abinoam, Jael, Chorus of Israelite Priests and Sisera attended by a Chorus of the Priests of Baal.
That here rebellious Arms I see,
Proud Deborah, proceeds from thee!
But, wouldst thou yet thy vain Ambition cease,
Whilst our affronted mercy offers Peace,
Bow down submissive, ere th’impending Blow
Lays thee and all thy lost associates low.
At my feet extended low,
Favour by thy Tears engage;
Or thou soon shalt, trembling, know
Slighted mercy turns to Rage.
Go frown, Barbarian,
Where thou art fear’d:
None but our God is here rever’d;
Our Breasts his Inspiration warms,
To vindicate our Cause by arms;
And, to thy Ruin, thou shalt know
What ’tis to find that God thy Foe.
In Jehova’s awful Sight
Haughty Tyrants are but Dust;
Those who Glory in their Might,
Place in vanity their Trust.
Yes, how your God in wonders can excel,
Your low Captivity demonstrates well.
Whilst you boast the wondrous Story
Of your God’s transcendent Glory,
Has he freed you from our Chain?
Think, O think, to your Confusion,
All you Trust in is Illusion;
All your flatt’ring Hopes are vain.
Impious Mortal, cease to brave us
Great Jehovah soon will save us,
And his time we wait with pleasure;
All his People he’ll defend,
And on their oppressors send
Plagues and vengeance without Measure.
Chief Priest of Baal
Behold the Nations all around,
What God like Baal is renown’d?
To him your stubborn Tribes would bow,
Did but the Slaves their Duty know.
O Baal, Monarch of the Skies!
To whom unnumber’d Temples rise;
From thee the Sun, immensely bright,
Receiv’d his radiant Robes of light:
By thee with Stars the Heavens glow,
The Ocean swells, and Rivers flow;
The Vales with verdure are array’d,
The flow’rs perfume the thicket’s shade;
And ’tis by the Event confess’d,
Thy votaries alone are bless’d.
Chief Priest of the Israelites
No more! Ye Infidels, no more!
False is the God whom you adore;
A dull, Brute Idol, whose detested Shrine
None, but such wretches, can believe divine.
Lord of Eternity, who hast in store
Plagues for the Proud, and Mercy for the Poor;
Look down, look down from thy Celestial Throne,
And let the Terrors of thy Wrath be known!
Plead thy just Cause, thy awful Pow’r disclose,
Avenge thy Servants, and confound their foes.
Deborah to Sisera and his Priests
By His great name, and His alone,
Whose Deity ye dare disown,
Whose kindled wrath ye soon shall know
Will prove him a tremendous foe;
Fly, I conjure ye, from this place,
Too sacred for a throng so base!
We go, but ye shall quickly mourn,
In tears of blood, our dire return.
Soli & Chorus
All your boast will end in woe.
Farewell, despicable foe.
Mighty Baal’s aid we crave.
Baal has no pow’r to save.
Baal’s Pow’r yee soon shall know.
Poor deluded Mortals, go!
Great Prophetess, my Soul’s on fire
To execute the ardours you inspire.
O that the fight were now begun!
My Father should not blush to call me Son.
In the Battle, fame pursuing,
We’ll with Slaughter float the Plains.
And our Tyrants, low in Ruin,
Soon shall wear their Captive’s Chains.
Thy ardours warm the Winter of my age,
Its weakness strengthen, and its Pains assuage;
And well dost thou our impious Foes deride;
Justice is thine, and God is on thy Side.
Swift inundation of Desolation
Pour on the Nation of Judah’s foes;
Can Fame delight thee,
Can Heav’n incite thee,
They now invite thee to end our woes.
O Judah, with what Joy I see
The Blessings Heav’n preserves for thee.
No more disconsolate I’ll mourn,
No more sad Sackcloth wear;
From Chains to freedom we return,
To transport from despair
Now, Jael, to thy Tent retire,
Our Bosoms for the Battle fire;
But know, thy Solitude will thee supply
With Glory that shall never die.
O the pleasure my Soul is possessing
At the Prospect of Mercies so dear.
May my Bosom be ever expressing
With what Rapture(s) my God I revere:
Barak, we now to Battle go,
And rush with ruin on the Foe.
Smiling Freedom, lovely Guest,
Balmy Source of softest joy,
Mortals, by thy aid, are blest
With such Charms that never cloy.
Thy dear presence to obtain,
(Sweetly smoothing ev’ry care),
Who would dread the hostile Plain,
Who each danger would not dare?
The great King of Kings will aid us today,
His praises let all with transport display.