Explore "Poems" by Elinor Jenkins on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Before the throne the spirits of the slain / With a loud voice importunately cried, / "Oh, Lord of Hosts, whose name be glorified, / Scarce may the line one onslaught more sustain / Wanting our help. Let it not be in vain, / Not all in vain, Oh God, that we have died." / And smiling on them our good Lord replied, / "Begone then, foolish ones, and fight again."
Our eyes were holden, that we saw them not; / Disheartened foes beheld -- our prisoners said -- / Behind us massed, a mighty host indeed, / Where no host was. On comrades unforgot / We thought, and knew that all those valiant dead / Forwent their rest to save us at our need.