Jephthah

12 JEPHTHAH. And his mighty hand Grips a mighty mace. He would shatter, did we call, Sons of Ammon one and all, Did we fear not lest his eye Turn back covetous to try For our palaces, to rule Where the far blue Syrian sky Stretches, where the clouds as wool Mark the white Arabian border, To become a tyrant king Where his sword came conquering. Out of chaos rises order On her wide unwearying wing, But the desolate marauder Never over us shall swing Such a sceptre as should bring Sorrow to one home of ours. Better bear the heavy hours Under God’s avenging breath, Better brave the horrid powers, Nor avoid the foreign death, Humbling all our pride before God’s most holy throne, abasing Every man’s strong soul, and facing All the heathen Ammon bore On the angry shore, Trusting to the mercy rare Of Jehovah, than to bare Hearts and bosoms to a friend