Isaiah was robed in spotless white. His station at the head of the broad stairway to the lower terrace of the temple-tower raised him full thirty cubits above the multitude. With the myriads packing the area below, the glittering array of the procession at his feet, the shining crest of the _ziggurat_ towering above, no marvel he was the one figure on which a thousand eyes were fastened. And as they gazed on him, the crowds grew still. Who was this that stayed the hands of Bel-Marduk’s own priest, in the god’s own dwelling? Men felt their hearts beating loudly, their breath was bated; and each passed to each the whisper, “Either the Jew is mad, or the spirit of some mighty god possesses him. Let us listen.” The king was silent, Avil-Marduk was silent, and the chiefs of the sacred colleges, the captains of the army. Only the spell of power passing human—every heart was confessing—could make the high priest’s words die on his lips, his eyes hang captive on the compelling power sped from the eyes of the youthful Jew. In the profound silence Isaiah spoke. Clear and strong his words sounded across the packed enclosure. “Woe, woe, woe unto Babylon! Unto the great city, the cry of whose sins is gone up to heaven! Whose evil deeds are uncounted! Woe unto Babylon, and woe to her base priests and baser king!” Was it not a god that dared to revile the lord of the Chaldees before his face? The silence was not broken. Isaiah spoke again. “Woe unto Belshazzar and Avil-Marduk, who seek the blood of the innocent for their own dark ends! Whose power is born of treachery and lies! Who spare neither the hoary head, nor the guileless maid! Woe unto king and priest and to all who walk after them!” Men saw Avil-Marduk turn away his gaze as from a sight of ill-omen. Those near by heard him mutter to Sirusur, commander of the host:— “This is a madman! Pluck him down, and end his ravings!” But Sirusur only stood and stared dumbly, and Avil was impotent. “Hear ye, hear ye, men of Babylon!” thundered the prophet. “Hitherto the spirit of Jehovah, the Lord God, has sent me to my own people. This day His message is to you and to your sinful king. “Come down and sit in the dust, O virgin daughter of Babylon! There is no throne left to you, O daughter of the Chaldees. No more shall you be called tender and delicate; therefore take the millstones and grind the meal in hard labour. Your vileness and shame shall be revealed; for I, Jehovah, will take vengeance. I will bring the strong races that serve me, and the king that worships me, against you. I will abase your pride. Therefore sit you in silence, and get you into darkness, O daughter of the Chaldees, for never again shall they declare you ‘Lady of Kingdoms’!”