Then let us providently wise,

Seize the debtor as it flies.
Think not to-morrow can repay
The pleasures that we lose to day;
To-morrow's most unbounded store
Can but pay its proper score.

FIRST PRIEST

RECITATIVE

But hush! see, foremost of the captive choir, The master-prophet grasps his full-toned lyre. Mark where he sits with executing art,

Feels for each tone and speeds it to the heart; See inspiration fills his rising form,

Awful as clouds that nurse the growing storm. And now his voice, accordant to the string, Prepares our monarch's victories to sing.

FIRST PROPHET

AIR

From north, from south, from east, from west,
Conspiring foes shall come;
Tremble, thou vice-polluted breast;

Blasphemers, all be dumb.

The tempest gathers all around,

On Babylon it lies;

Down with her! down, down to the ground;

She sinks, she groans, she dies.

SECOND PROPHET

Down with her, Lord, to lick the dust,

Ere yonder setting sun;

Serve her as she hath serv'd the just !
'Tis fix'd-It shall be done.

FIRST PRIEST

RECITATIVE

Enough! when slaves thus insolent presume, The king himself shall judge, and fix their doom.

Short-sighted wretches! have not you, and all,
Beheld our power in Zedekiah's fall?

To yonder gloomy dungeon turn your eyes;
Mark where dethron'd your captive monarch lies,
Depriv'd of sight, and rankling in his chain;
He calls on death to terminate his pain.
Yet know, ye slaves, that still remain behind
More ponderous chains, and dungeons more confined.

CHORUS

Arise, All-potent Ruler, rise,

And vindicate Thy people's cause;
Till every tongue in every land
Shall offer up unfeign'd applause.

End of the Second Act

ACT III
SCENE-As before

FIRST PRIEST

RECITATIVE

YES, my companions, Heaven's decrees are past,
And our fix'd empire shall for ever last:
In vain the madd'ning prophet threatens woe,
In vain rebellion aims her secret blow;

Still shall our fame and growing power be spread,
And still our vengeance crush the guilty head.

AIR

Coeval with man
Our empire began,
And never shall fall
Till ruin shakes all.
With the ruin of all,
Shall Babylon fall.

SECOND [FIRST] PROPHET

RECITATIVE

'Tis thus that pride triumphant rears the head,
A little while, and all their power is fled.
But ha! what means yon sadly plaintive train,
That this way slowly bends along the plain?
And now, methinks, a pallid corse they bear
To yonder bank, and rest the body there.
Alas! too well mine eyes observant trace
The last remains of Judah's royal race.
Our monarch falls, and now our fears are o'er,
The wretched Zedekiah is no more.

AIR

Ye wretches who by fortune's hate
In want and sorrow groan,
Come ponder his severer fate
And learn to bless your own.

Ye sons, from fortune's lap supplied,
Awhile the bliss suspend;
Like yours, his life began in pride,
Like his, your lives may end.

SECOND PROPHET

RECITATIVE

Behold his squalid corse with sorrow worn,
His wretched limbs with ponderous fetters torn;
Those eyeless orbs that shock with ghastly glare,
These ill-becoming robes, and matted hair!
And shall not Heaven for this its terror show,
And deal its angry vengeance on the foe?
How long, how long, Almighty Lord of all,
Shall wrath vindictive threaten ere it fall!

ISRAELITISH WOMAN

AIR

As panting flies the hunted hind,
Where brooks refreshing stray;

And rivers through the valley wind,

That stop the hunter's way;

Thus we, O Lord, alike distress'd,

For streams of mercy long;

Those streams that cheer the sore oppress'd,
And overwhelm the strong.

FIRST PROPHET

RECITATIVE

But whence that shout? Good heavens! amazement all! See yonder tower just nodding to the fall:

See where an army covers all the ground,

Saps the strong wall and pours destruction round ;-
The ruin smokes, destruction pours along—

How low the great, how feeble are the strong!
The foe prevails, the lofty walls recline-
Oh, God of hosts, the victory is Thine!

CHORUS OF ISRAELITES

Down with her, Lord, to lick the dust;

Let vengeance be begun;

Serve her as she hath serv'd the just,
And let Thy Will be done.

FIRST PRIEST

RECITATIVE

All, all is lost. The Syrian army fails,
Cyrus, the conqueror of the world, prevails!
Save us, O Lord! to Thee, though late, we pray;
And give repentance but an hour's delay.

SECOND PRIEST

AIR

Thrice happy, who in happy hour
To Heaven their praise bestow,
And own His all-consuming power
Before they feel the blow!

FIRST PROPHET

RECITATIVE

Now, now's your time! ye wretches bold and blind, Brave but to God, and cowards to mankind,

Too late you seek that power unsought before, Your wealth, your pride, your empire, are no more.

AIR

O Lucifer! thou son of morn,
Alike of Heaven and man the foe;

Heaven, men, and all,

Now press thy fall,

And sink thee lowest of the low.

SECOND PRIEST [PROPHET?]

O Babylon, how art thou fallen-
Thy fall more dreadful from delay;
Thy streets forlorn

To wilds shall turn,

Where toads shall pant, and vultures prey!

FIRST PROPHET

RECITATIVE

Such be their fate. But listen! from afar
The clarion's note proclaims the finished war!
Cyrus, our great restorer, is at hand,
And this way leads his formidable band.
Now give your songs of Zion to the wind,
And hail the benefactor of mankind:
He comes pursuant to divine decree,
To chain the strong, and set the captive free.

CHORUS OF YOUTHS

Rise to raptures past expressing,
Sweeter from remember'd woes;
Cyrus comes, our wrongs redressing,
Comes to give the world repose.