Sound The Loud Timbrel. Miriam's Song. (Alr.--Avison.)[1]

        "And Miriam, the Prophetess, the sister of Aaron, took a timbrel in her band; and all the women went out after her with timbrels and with dances."
        --Exod. xv. 20.


Sound the loud Timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea!
JEHOVAH has triumphed--his people are free.
Sing--for the pride of the Tyrant is broken,
    His chariots, his horsemen, all splendid and brave--
How vain was their boast, for the LORD hath but spoken,
    And chariots and horsemen are sunk in the wave.
Sound the loud Timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea;
JEHOVAH has triumphed--his people are free.

Praise to the Conqueror, praise to the LORD!
His word was our arrow, his breath was our sword--
Who shall return to tell Egypt the story
    Of those she sent forth in the hour of her pride?
For the LORD hath looked out from his pillar of glory,^[2]
    And all her brave thousands are dashed in the tide.
Sound the loud Timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea,
JEHOVAH has triumphed--his people are free!

Thomas Moore

Thomas Moore was an Irish poet, singer, and songwriter, celebrated for his Irish Melodies, which are now considered a staple of Irish cultural heritage. Born on May 28, 1779, in Dublin, Ireland, Moore gained fame for his lyrical songs, many of which were set to traditional Irish tunes. Not only a poet, but he was also a staunch advocate of Irish nationalism, often incorporating themes of national identity and resistance into his work. Moore's influential collection 'Irish Melodies' became popular in both Ireland and Britain and helped to define the literary output of the era. He passed away on February 25, 1852, but his legacy in Irish literature and music endures.

Thomas Moore

Alciphron: A Fragment. Letter IV.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

I'd Mourn The Hopes.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Row Gently Here. (Venetian Air.)

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Odes Of Anacreon - Ode XXII.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

English

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Ah! short-sighted monarch, dost thou think to pursue
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Ah! weak and defenceless they truly appear,
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Paraphrase. Isaiah XL.

Rejoice O my people! Jehovah hath spoken!
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Voice of a people suffering long,
The pathos of their mournful song,
The sorrow of their night of wrong!
Their cry like that which Israel gave,
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Like Moses by the Red Sea's wave!
The Stern accord her timbrel lent
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O'er Egypt's sunken armament!
The tramp that startled camp and town,
And shook the walls of slavery down,
The spectral march of old John Brown!
The storm that swept through battle-days,
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The bondmen giving God the praise!
Voice of a ransomed race, sing on
Till Freedom's every right is won,
And slavery's every wrong undone

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Go Forth To The Mount, (Air.--Stevenson.)

Go forth to the Mount; bring the olive-branch home,^[1]
And rejoice; for the day of our    freedom is come!
From that time,^[2] when the moon upon Ajalon's vale,
    Looking motionless down,^[3] saw the kings of the earth,
In the presence of God's mighty champion grow pale--
    Oh, never had Judah an hour of such mirth!
Go forth to the Mount--bring the olive-branch home,
And rejoice, for the day of our freedom is come!

Bring myrtle and palm--bring the boughs of each tree
That's worthy to wave o'er the tents of the Free.^[4]
From that day when the footsteps of Israel shone
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Whose waters shrunk back as the ark glided on^[5]--
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War Against Babylon. (Air.--Novello.)

"War against Babylon!" shout we around,
    Be our banners through earth unfurled;
Rise up, ye nations, ye kings, at the sound--
    "War against Babylon!" shout thro' the world!
Oh thou, that dwellest on many waters,^[1]
    Thy day of pride is ended now;
And the dark curse of Israel's daughters
    Breaks like a thundercloud over thy brow!
        War, war, war against Babylon!

Make bright the arrows, and gather the shields,^[2]
    Set the standard of God on high;
Swarm we, like locusts, o'er all her fields.
    "Zion" our watchword, and "vengeance" our cry!
Woe! woe!--the time of thy visitation^[3]
    Is come, proud land, thy doom is cast--
And the black surge of desolation
    Sweeps o'er thy guilty head, at last!

Thomas Moore