PASSOVER. 
 
BLOOD on the lintel !  On the outer side 
Death stood with wing implacable, with sword 
Steeped in the furnace cruel and abhorred 
Of Hell, in Styx well tempered.  Far and wide 
Its adamant smote out, a full fierce tide 
Of vengeance and destruction from the Lord, 
While past yon door with blood well overscored 
Safety and Peace and Passover abide. 
 
Blood on the lintel !  But within our gates 
Spilt our own blood lies curdling on the ground, 
Crying to God from each envenomed wound 
While the fierce combat yet no whit abates, 
And though protected, confident, unspent, 
Sighs for relief with battle-cries are blent. 
 
36