JEPHTHAH. 49
In sackcloth clad, with ashes on their heads,
His crue] brethren, that he spare their lives.
CHORUS.
In the heart of a conqueror mercy sits
A brighter jewel than vengeance wroken,
And grace is the web that his people knits,
And love is the balm for the hearts nigh broken.
Peace is arisen, a dove for token,
Righteousness, bright as the swallow fiits.
JARED [aszde}.
So, in his victory is our disgrace.
CHORUS.
Fair as the dawn is the maiden wise,
Pale as the poppies by still white water,
Sunlight burns in her pure deep eyes,
Love lights the tresses of Jephthah’s daughter ;
Kissing rays of the moon have caught her,
Rays of the moon that sleeps and sighs.
JARED [aszde].
In our disgrace, behold! Our vengeance strikes.
I am inspired with so profound a hate—
He shall not triumph : in the very hour
When his o’ermastering forehead tops the sky
I strike him to the earth. I need not move.
Silence—no more—and all accomplishes.
Leviathan, how subtle is thy path!
OE