(April, 1862.) When Israel Camped By Migdol Hoar, Down At Her Feet Her Shawm She Threw, But Moses Sung And Timbrels Rung For Pharaoh'S Standed Crew. So God Appears In Apt Events - The Lord Is A Man Of War! So The Strong Wind To The Muse Is Given In Victory'S Roar. Deep Be The Ode That Hymns The Fleet - The Fight By Night - The Fray Which Bore Our Flag Against The Powerful Stream, And Led It Up To Day. Dully Through Din Of Larger Strife Shall Bay That Warring Gun; But None The Less To Us Who Live It Peals - An Echoing One. The Shock Of Ships, The Jar Of Walls, The Rush Through Thick And Thin - The Flaring Fire-Rafts, Glare And Gloom - Eddies, And Shells That Spin - The Boom-Chain Burst, The Hulks Dislodged, The Jam Of Gun-Boats Driven, Or Fired, Or Sunk - Made Up A War Like Michael'S Waged With Leven. The Manned Varuna Stemmed And Quelled The Odds Which Hard Beset; The Oaken Flag-Ship, Half Ablaze, Passed On And Thundered Yet; While Foundering, Gloomed In Grimy Flame, The Ram Manassas - Hark The Yell! - Plunged, And Was Gone; In Joy Or Fright, The River Gave A Startled Swell. They Fought Through Lurid Dark Till Dawn; The War-Smoke Rolled Away With Clouds Of Night, And Showed The Fleet In Scarred Yet Firm Array, Above The Forts, Above The Drift Of Wrecks Which Strife Had Made; And Farragut Sailed Up To The Town And Anchored - Sheathed The Blade. The Moody Broadsides, Brooding Deep, Hold The Lewd Mob At Bay, While O'Er The Armed Decks' Solemn Aisles The Meek Church-Pennons Play; By Shotted Guns The Sailors Stand, With Foreheads Bound Or Bare; The Captains And The Conquering Crews Humble Their Pride In Prayer. They Pray; And After Victory, Prayer Is Meet For Men Who Mourn Their Slain; The Living Shall Unmoor And Sail, But Death'S Dark Anchor Secret Deeps Detain. Yet Glory Slants Her Shaft Of Rays Far Through The Undisturbed Abyss; There Must Be Other, Nobler Worlds For Them Who Nobly Yield Their Lives In This.