And as he spoke, the great doors were thrown open, and the armed man flung down his helmet, and walked forward with a solemn and haughty step leading a beautiful woman captive, and a young child.
A shriek!--a tumult!--and straightway all were kneeling together! And not one of that family of Jacob--that remnant of the tribe of Judah--not one was missing. They were determined to live and die in their old august unchangeable faith, even as all their progenitors had lived and died--enduring all things--suffering all things--trials and sorrows and temptations--age after age--and never betraying their faith, never!
But the unconquerable Jew acknowledged to himself, and to his brother, even there, as they fell upon his neck and wept, the _possibility_ of prayer being heard, the _possibility_ that the unchangeable God might be reached by supplication--and the _possibility_ that even a philosopher and a Jew might be mistaken.
Men of the North! look up! There's a tumult in your sky; A troubled glory surging out; Great shadows hurrying by:
Your strength--Where is it now? Your quivers--Are they spent? Your arrows in the rust of death, Your fathers' bows unbent?
Men of the North! Awake! Ye're called to from the Deep; Trumpets in every breeze-- Yet there ye lie asleep:
A stir in every tree; A shout from every wave; A challenging on every side; A moan from every grave:
A battle in the sky; Ships thundering through the air-- Jehovah on the march-- Men of the North, to prayer!
Now, now--in all your strength; There's that before your way, Above, about you, and below, Like armies in array:
Lift up your eyes, and see The changes overhead; Now hold your breath! and hear The mustering of the dead.
See how the midnight air With bright commotion burns, Thronging with giant shape, Banner and spear by turns--
The sea-fog driving in, Solemnly and swift; The Moon afraid--stars dropping out-- The very skies adrift:
The Everlasting GOD: Our Father--Lord of Love-- With cherubim and seraphim All gathering above--
Their stormy plumage lighted up As forth to war they go; The shadow of the Universe, Upon our haughty foe!
And while I was musing, the fire burned.--_Holy Writ._
Music is the wondrous breathing of God's spirit in our souls. As we view the "floor of heaven, thickly inlaid with patines of pure gold," we feel that