When Cushan was mourning in solitude drear, When the curtains of Midian trembled with fear, On the wings of salvation thy chariot did fly: Thou didst stride the wide whirlwind and come from on high.
Earth shook, and before thee the mountains did bow: The voice of the deep thundered loud from below; Thy arrows glanced bright as they shot through the air, And far gleamed the light of thy glittering spear; The bright orb of day paused in wonder on high, And the lamp of the night stood still in the sky.
