And pealed along the host the cry,

"The Lord hath won the victory!"

Lo! Zebah and Zalmunna come,

Unheralded by trump or drum;

Harp and timbrel now are mute,

Cymbal loud and softer flute.

And where are they, the bands that rent

At morn with shouts the firmament?

Like clods, far stretched o'er plain and hill,

Their limbs are stiff, their lips are still!

Broken is the arm of war;

Quenched in night is Midian's star!

Hot with toil, and stained with blood,

Yet still in spirit unsubdued,

To the champion of the Lord

Midian's princes yield the sword.

[Pg 52]

Pomp and power, and crown and life,

All were staked on that fell strife:

All are lost!—yet still they bear

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