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And let the awful tale With grief and horror every realm o'ershade, From Afric's burning main To the far sea, in other hues arrayed, And the red limits of the Orient's reign, Whose nations, haughty though subdued, behold Christ's glorious banner to the winds unfold.

Alas! for those that in embattled power, And vain array of chariots and of horse, O desart Libya! sought thy fatal coast! And trusting not in Him, the eternal source Of might and glory, but in earthly force, Making the strength of multitudes their boast, A flushed and crested host, Elate in lofty dreams of victory, trod Their path of pride, as o'er a conquered land Given for the spoil; nor raised their eyes to God; And Israel's Holy One withdrew his hand,