midnight
Where is the ancient Faith 's restorer ? Who lifts the cross and beckons on ? Who 'll free the grave and rend in twain The haughty foe 's insulting chain ? A holy storm o'er earth and billow Is rushing through the midnight hour ; To stir the sleeper from his pillow , It roars round city , camp , and tower , In wailful cry from battlements , -- Up , tardy Christian , get thee hence . Lo , angels everywhere commanding With solemn faces , voicelessly , -- And pilgrims at the gates are standing With tearful cheeks , appealingly ! They sadly mourn , those holy men , The fierceness of the Saracen . There breaks a red and sullen morrow O'er Christendom 's extended field ; The grief , that springs from love and sorrow , In every bosom is revealed ; The hearth is left in sudden zeal , And each one grasps the cross and steel .