the assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold

and his cohorts were 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

that host with their banners at sunset were seen

like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown

that host on the morrow lay withered and strown

for the angel of death spread his wings on the blast

and 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

and there 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 cold as the spray of the rock beating surf

and there lay 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

the lances unlifted

the trumpet unblown

and the widows of ashur are loud in their wail

and the idols are broke in the temple of baal

and the might of the gentile unsmote by the sword

hath melted like snow in the glance of the lord