A sweet
voice it was, trembling in tones that told of ancient wrong, in words
full of a new hope. Had life and song come to one of those white
marbles yonder? Voice and word touched the heart of Vergilius--he knew
not why; and this in part is the chant that stopped the revels of
Antipater:
"Lift up my soul; let me not be ashamed---I trust
in Thee, God of my fathers;
Send, quickly send, the new king whose arrows
shall fly as the lightning,
Making the mighty afraid and the proud to bow
low and the wicked to tremble.
Soon let me hear the great song that shall sound
in the deep of the heavens;
Show me the lantern of light hanging low in
the deep of the heavens."
The voice of the singer grew faint and the lyre dropped from her hands.
They could see her reeling, and suddenly she fell headlong to the rug
beneath her pedestal. Antipater rose quickly with angry eyes.
"The accursed girl!" said he. "A Galilean slave of my father. She is
forever chanting of a new king."
Hot with anger and flushed with wine, he ran, cursing, and kicked the
shapely form that lay fainting at the foot of its pedestal.
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