HERE Cromwell stood, that dark and frowning night, Hemmed in upon this desperate tongue of land, The sea behind, the sea on either hand, And, fronting him, the foe on yonder height. What chance for Cromwell in to-morrow’s fight, If thus the order of the battle stand! He was but captain, the supreme command He knew was His who, to the most lorn right, Oft gives mysterious victory. And so, Armed with this faith, of fear he never dreamed. For ever with that man a Power there seemed, That conquered first the judgment of his foe, Then gave an easy field. So would it be With all who owned as deep a trust as he.
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