CHAPTER III--BELSHAZZAR’S FEAST.

Stern Time, thou wast at proud Belshazzar’s sumptuous feast, When the pomp and splendor of the sensuous East, Robed in gold and crimson, graced the banquet hall, And ’mid revelry saw the hand write on the wall; Thou mark’st the look of horror on each frozen face, And the deadly silence that fell upon the place Of infamous lewdness, aflame with light and bloom; Thou knew’st the hand was writing Belshazzar’s doom! The vessels of the Lord had been ushered in, And desecrated by debauchery and sin; Stained by impious draughts to the gods of gold, Of silver, brass, and iron, in defiance bold.

Hark! hark! What means that ominous and boding sound? ’Tis the march of a million feet that shake the ground. ’Tis the Medes and Persians thundering at the walls, And before whose impetuous rush proud Babylon falls. And ere the dawn’s pale light falls soft o’er all again, Her proud and impious king is like a wild wolf slain.