Hezekiah prospered in all his works.

And Hezekiah died and they buried him in the ascent of the sepulchers
of the sons of David: and all Judah and the inhabitants of Jerusalem
did him honor at his death. And Manasseh his son reigned in his stead.

[Footnote: The story of the relations between Hezekiah the king and
Isaiah the prophet will be found in Vol. V. of this series.]

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THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB

The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.

Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green,
That host with their banners at sunset were seen;
Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown,
That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and forever grew still!

And there lay the steed with his nostrils all wide,
But through them there rolled not the breath of his pride,
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.

And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail;
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone.
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!
--_Lord Byron_.

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HYMN BY THE EUPHRATES

O Thou that wilt not break the bruised reed,
Nor heap fresh ashes on the mourner's brow,
Nor rend anew the wounds that inly bleed,
The only balm of our afflictions Thou,
Teach us to bear Thy chastening wrath, O God!
To kiss with quivering lips--still humbly kiss Thy rod!

We bless Thee, Lord, though far from Judah's land;
Though our worn limbs are black with stripes and chains;
Though for stern foes we till the burning sand;
And reap, for others' joy, the summer plains;
We bless Thee, Lord, for Thou art gracious still,
Ev'n though this last black drop o'erflow our cup of ill!

Forgive, forgive,--e