- Ben Hur

The sun appeared, and brought the day;
it rose on its appointed way.
The early light revealed dew bright,
like tears we wept for dead that lay.

The sun continued on it’s course;
it blew away with no remorse
the misty cloak, like burning smoke.
We grieved the burnt, our voices hoarse.

The sun now reached its highest place;
it blazed down bright with shining face
upon the field where shivered shield
had fallen smashed by sword and mace.

The sun then fell from its great height;
it took with it the day’s last light.
The red sunset, like brave blood wet,
drenching the field in crimson bright.

The sun has passed now from the sky;
leaving the world in gloom to lie.
The darkness falls on lampless halls
where no more shall our brethren die.