| |
| FOR sixty days and upwards, | |
| A storm of shell and shot | |
| Rained round us in a flaming shower, | |
| But still we faltered not. | |
| “If the noble city perish,” | 5 |
| Our grand young leader said, | |
| “Let the only walls the foe shall scale | |
| Be ramparts of the dead!” | |
| |
| For sixty days and upwards, | |
| The eye of heaven waxed dim; | 10 |
| And even throughout God’s holy morn, | |
| O’er Christian prayer and hymn, | |
| Arose a hissing tumult, | |
| As if the fiends in air | |
| Strove to engulf the voice of faith | 15 |
| In the shrieks of their despair. | |
| |
| There was wailing in the houses, | |
| There was trembling on the marts, | |
| While the tempest raged and thundered, | |
| Mid the silent thrill of hearts; | 20 |
| But the Lord, our shield, was with us, | |
| And ere a month had sped, | |
| Our very women walked the streets | |
| With scarce one throb of dread. | |
| |
| And the little children gambolled, | 25 |
| Their faces purely raised, | |
| Just for a wondering moment, | |
| As the huge bombs whirled and blazed; | |
| Then turned with silvery laughter | |
| To the sports which children love, | 30 |
| Thrice-mailed in the sweet, instinctive thought | |
| That the good God watched above. | |
| |
| Yet the hailing bolts fell faster, | |
| From scores of flame-clad ships, | |
| And about us, denser, darker, | 35 |
| Grew the conflict’s wild eclipse, | |
| Till a solid cloud closed o’er us, | |
| Like a type of doom and ire, | |
| Whence shot a thousand quivering tongues | |
| Of forked and vengeful fire. | 40 |
| |
| But the unseen hands of angels | |
| Those death-shafts warned aside, | |
| And the dove of heavenly mercy | |
| Ruled o’er the battle tide; | |
| In the houses ceased the wailing, | 45 |
| And through the war-scarred marts | |
| The people strode, with step of hope, | |
| To the music in their hearts. | |
| |
