Jephthah and Other Mysteries

JEPHTHAH. Throbbing with fire more potent than all wine, All sting of fleshly pangs and pleasures. Oh! The god is fast upon my back ; he rides My spirit like a stallion ; for I hate The awful thong his hand is heavy with. ELEAZAR. Speak, for the god compels, and we behold. PROPHET. A harlot shall be mother of Israel. CHORUS. He speaks of her who sighed for Gilead. PROPHET. A maiden shall be slain for many men. CHORUS. A doubtful word, and who shall fathom it? | PROPHET. Thy help is from the hills and desert lands. CHORUS. Our help is from the hills: we know the Lord. PROPHET. Death rides most violently against the sun.