The King was on his throne, br The Satraps throng'd the hall: br A thousand bright lamps shone br O'er that high festival. br A thousand cups of gold, br In Judah deem'd divine-- br Jehovah's vessels hold br The godless Heathen's wine! br br In that same hour and hall, br The fingers of a hand br Came forth against the wall, br And wrote as if on sand: br The fingers of a man;-- br A solitary hand br Along the letters ran, br And traced them like a wand. br br The monarch saw, and shook, br And bade no more rejoice; br All bloodless wax'd his look br And tremulous his voice. br 'Let the men of lore appear, br The wisest of the earth, br And expound the words of fear, br Which mar our royal mirth.' br br Chaldea's seers are good, br But here they have no skill; br And the unknown letters stood br Untold and awful still. br And Babel's men of age br Are wise and deep in lore; br But now they were not sage, br They saw - but knew no more. br br A captive in the land, br A stranger and a youth, br He heard the king's command, br He saw that writing's truth. br The lamps around were bright, br The prophecy in view; br He read it on that night, - br The morrow proved it true.