The Destruction of Sennacherib

The As­sy­ri­an came down

Like a wolf on the fold

With his co­horts a-gleam­ing

In pur­ple and gold;

And the sheen of their spears

Was like stars on the sea

When the blue wave rolls night­ly

On deep Ga­li­lee.

Like the leaves of the for­est

When sum­mer is green

All the host with its ban­ners

At sun­set was seen:

Like the leaves of the for­est

When au­tumn hath blown

Would the host on the mor­row

Lay wi­thered and strown.

For the An­gel of Death

Spread his wings on the blast

And he breathed in the face

Of the foe as he passed;

And the eyes of the sleep­ers

Waxed dead­ly and chill

And their hearts but once heaved

And for ev­er grew still!

On the ground lay the steed

With his nos­tril all wide

But through it there rolled

Not the breath of his pride;

And the foam of his gasp­ing

Lay white on the turf

And as cold as the spray

Of the rock-beat­ing surf.

And be­side him the rid­er

Distorted and pale

With the dew on his brow

And the rust on his mail:

And the tents were all si­lent

The ban­ners alone

All the lanc­es un­lift­ed

The trum­pet un­blown.

Now the wi­dows of Ash­ur

Are loud in their wail;

Lifeless id­ols are broke

In the tem­ple of Baal;

And the might of the Gen­tile

Unsmote by the sword

It hath melt­ed like snow

In the glance of the Lord.