JEPHTHAH.
Throbbing with fire more potent than all wine,
All sting of fleshly pangs and pleasures. Oh!
The god is fast upon my back ; he rides
My spirit like a stallion ; for I hate
The awful thong his hand is heavy with.
ELEAZAR.
Speak, for the god compels, and we behold.
PROPHET.
A harlot shall be mother of Israel.
CHORUS.
He speaks of her who sighed for Gilead.
PROPHET.
A maiden shall be slain for many men.
CHORUS.
A doubtful word, and who shall fathom it?
| PROPHET.
Thy help is from the hills and desert lands.
CHORUS.
Our help is from the hills: we know the Lord.
PROPHET.
Death rides most violently against the sun.