A Military Symphony
Enter Deborah and Barak with the victorious army of the Israelites, return’d from pursuit of the Canaanites, and attended with the Israelite Women.
Israelite Priests, and captives, among whom are the Priests of Baal.
Now the Proud insulting Foe
Prostrate in the Dust lies low;
Broken Chariots, Hills of slain,
Load the wide extended Plain.
The haughty Foe, whose Pride to Heav’n did soar,
Is fall’n, is fall’n, and Canaan is no more.
Now sweetly smiling Peace descends,
And waves her downy Wings;
Each Blessing in her Train attends,
Each joy around her springs.
To them Abinoam.
My Pray’rs are heard, the Blessings of this Day
All my past Cares and Anguish will repay;
The Soldiers to each other tell
My Barak has performed his Duty well.
My honour’d Father!
O my Son! My Son!
Well has thy Youth the Race of Honour run.
Tears, such as tender Fathers shed,
Warm from my aged Eyes descend,
For joy to think, when I am dead,
My son shall have mankind his friend.
To them Jael and the Canaanite Herald.
O Deborah, my Fears are o’er;
Proud Sisera is now no more.
Hark! Hark! Hark!
His Thunders round me roll,
His angry awful Frowns I see,
His Arrows wound my trembling Soul:
Is no more Mercy left for me?
Ah, no! He now denies to save,
Open, oh Earth, and be my Grave!
Doleful Tidings, how ye wound;
Despair and Death are in that sound.
Our fears are now for ever fled,
Our Eyes no more shall flow;
Swift vengeance has laid low the head
Of our Imperious Foe.
I saw the Tyrant breathless in her Tent,
Her Arm his Soul to endless Darkness sent.
But see, the glad assembly wait to know,
How thou didst rid them of so fierce a Foe:
Already thou hast told it me;
But the Relation will please more from thee.
When from the Battle that proud Captain fled,
Vengeance divine to my Pavilion led
The Trembling fugitive; who, pale with Care,
Besought me, panting, to conceal him there
With Flaming Thirst, and Anguish in his Look,
He ask’d for Water from the Limpid Brook;
But Milk I gave him in a Copious Bowl:
With ecstasy he quaff’d, and cool’d his Soul,
And then, with his laborious Flight opprest,
In some few moments he sunk down to Rest.
Then was I conscious, Heav’n, that happy Hour,
Had placed the Foe of Judah in my Pow’r.
The Workman’s Hammer and a Nail I seiz’d,
And, whilst his Limbs in deep repose he eas’d,
I through his bursting Temples forc’d the Wound,
And riveted the Tyrant to the ground.
Tyrant, now no more we dread thee,
All thy Insolence is o’er;
Justice to thy Ruin led thee;
Thou art fal’n to rise no more.
If, Jael, I aright divine,
When men hereafter would proclaim
All that is noble by one name;
O Jael, they will mention thine!
The glorious Sun shall cease to shed
His beamy Treasure from the Skies;
And merit shall be Virtue’s dread, (vertue’s)
Whene’er thy bless’d memorial dies.
May Heav’n, with kind profusion, shed
Its chosen joys on Jael’s Head!
Low at her feet he bow’d, he fell,
And laid in Dust his haughty Head;
And late Posterity shall tell,
That where he bow’d, he fell down dead.
O great Jehovah! May thy Foes
Thus perish, who thy Laws oppose.
But O! Let all, who love thy praise,
And dedicate to thee their Days,
Shine like the Sun, immensely bright,
When forth he marches in his might,
To run his radiant Race of Light.
Let our glad Songs to Heav’n ascend,
For Judah’s God is Judah’s Friend.
O celebrate his sacred name,
With gratitude his praise proclaim.