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Female Scriptural Characters.


By Mrs. R. Hyneman.


The sound of the trumpet swells loud on the gale,
And a glittering host spreads over mountain and vale;
Like the leaves of the forest they cumber the ground,
And death and destruction are scattered around.

They come in the flush of their pride-swollen pow’r;
Wo! wo! to the vanquished in victory’s hour,
When the groan of the dying, the shriek of despair,
And the shout of the conqueror blend on the air;

When the sword shall be fleshed in the innocent breast,
And the delicate nursling be torn from its nest,
And manhood shall see, without power to aid,
The dishonor and bondage of matron and maid.

They come; the earth quivers beneath the firm tread
Of proud Sisera’s hosts, and ere day-dawn has sped,
Impatient at conquest, they rush to the fight
That will bring to them victory and spoil ere the night.

What hath woman to do amid havoc and blood,
Whose ensanguin’d tide mingles with Kishon’s pale flood?
From her own quiet dwelling why comes she afar,
To mingle with men ’mid the horrors of war?

Canst thou conquer, oh! Israel, grief-stricken and lone?
Can a powerless woman restore thee thine own?
“Up, Barak! arouse thee, thy foeman is near,
And the shouts of his army burst loud on thy ear.”

But vainly they strive, by the spear and the sword,
To conquer a multitude strong in the Lord;
For the spear and the sword shall be blunted and dim
’Gainst a nation whose trust and whose hope are in Him.

Their haughty invaders are vanquished and slain,
The pride of King Jabin lies stretched on the plain,
And never, on mountain, in valley, or glen,
Shall their hosts spread destruction and carnage again.

And thou, gentle woman, so meek in thy might,
God-fearing and loving, thou aidest the fight,
And thy song, as we trace it, recalls thee as when
Thy presence gave hope to the fortunes of men.

“Up, Barak! awaken!” our watchword shall prove,
When the world, oh! our Father, would weaken our love;
A firm faith in thy word shall be stronghold and tower
To guard against foes in temptation’s dark hour.

We will think of the manifold deeds Thou hast done,
Of the miracles wrought, unto sire and son;
But none, oh! just mother of Israel, shall be
More dear to our hearts than this record of thee.