DELIVERANCE by FRANCES ELLEN WATKINS HARPER

Rise up! rise up! Oh Israel,
Let a spotless lamb be slain;
The angel of death will o'er you bend
And rend your galling chain.

Sprinkle its blood upon the posts
And lintels of your door;
When the angel sees the crimson spots
Unharmed he will pass you o'er.

Gather your flocks and herds to-night,
Your children by your side;
A leader from Arabia comes
To be your friend and your guide.

With girded loins and sandled feet
Await the hour of dread,
When Mizraim shall wildly mourn
Her first-born and her dead.

The sons of Abraham no more
Shall crouch 'neath Pharaoh's hand,
Trembling with agony and dread.
He'll thrust you from the land.

And ye shall hold in unborn years
A feast to mark this day,
When joyfully the fathers rose
And cast their chains away.

When crimson tints of morning flush
The golden gates of day,
Or gorgeous hue of even melt
In sombre shades away,

Then ye shall to your children teach
The meaning of this feast,
How from the proud oppressor's hand
Their fathers were released.

And ye shall hold through distant years
This feast with glad accord,
And children's children yet shall learn
To love and trust the Lord.

Ages have passed since Israel trod
In triumph through the sea,
And yet they hold in memory's urn
Their first great jubilee.

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