Angel of God! that through the Assyrian host, Clothed with the darkness of the midnight hour, To tame the proud, to hush the invader’s boast, Didst pass triumphant in avenging power, Till burst the day-spring on the silent scene, And death alone reveal’d where thou hadst been. Wilt thou not wake, O Chastener! in thy might, To guard thine ancient and majestic hill, Where oft from heaven the full Shechinah’s light Hath stream’d the house of holiness to fill? Oh! yet once more defend thy loved domain, Eternal One! Deliverer! rise again! Fearless of thee, the plunderer undismay’d Hastes on, the sacred chambers to explore Where the bright treasures of the fane are laid, The orphan’s portion and the widow’s store: What recks _his_ heart though age unsuccour’d die, And want consume the cheek of infancy? Away, intruders!--hark! a mighty sound! Behold, a burst of light!--away, away! A fearful glory fills the temple round, A vision bright in terrible array! And lo! a steed of no terrestrial frame, His path a whirlwind and his breath a flame! His neck is clothed with thunder,[125] and his mane Seems waving fire--the kindling of his eye Is as a meteor--ardent with disdain His glance, his gesture, fierce in majesty! Instinct with light he seems, and form’d to bear Some dread archangel through the fields of air. But who is he, in panoply of gold, Throned on that burning charger? Bright his form, Yet in its brightness awful to behold, And girt with all the terrors of the storm! Lightning is on his helmet’s crest--and fear Shrinks from the splendour of his brow severe. And by his side two radiant warriors stand, All arm’d, and kingly in commanding grace-- Oh! more than kingly--godlike!--sternly grand, Their port indignant, and each dazzling face Beams with the beauty to immortals given, Magnificent in all the wrath of heaven. Then sinks each gazer’s heart--each knee is bow’d In trembling awe; but, as to fields of fight, Th’ unearthly war-steed, rushing through the crowd, Bursts on their leader in terrific might; And the stern angels of that dread abode Pursue its plunderer with the scourge of God. Darkness--thick darkness!--low on earth he lies, Rash Heliodorus--motionless and pale-- Bloodless his cheek, and o’er his shrouded eyes Mists, as of death, suspend their shadowy veil; And thus th’ oppressor, by his fear-struck train, Is borne from that inviolable fane. The light returns--the warriors of the sky Have pass’d, with all their dreadful pomp, away; Then wakes the timbrel, swells the song on high Triumphant as in Judah’s elder day; Rejoice, O city of the sacred hill! Salem, exult! thy God is with thee still.