No More Learning

Death hath a mercy equal unto God's. --
Look at the air above thee; is there sign
Of mercy in that naked splendour of fire?
Too Godlike! We are his: he covers us
With golden flame of air and firmament
Of white-hot gold, marvellous to see.
But whom, what heathen land hated of God,
Do his grey clouds shadow with comfort of rain?
Over our chosen heads his glory glows:
And in five days the torment in his city
Will be beyond imagining. We will go
Through swords into the quiet and cloud of death.

_Judith_.
Ozias, wilt thou be an infamy?
Bethulia fallen, all Judea lies
Open to the feet and hoofs of Assyria.

_Ozias_.
Yea, and what doth Judea but cower down
Behind us? There's no rescue comes from there.
We are alone with Holofernes' power.

_Judith_.
But if we hold him off, will he not grant
The meed of a brave fight, captivity? --
Or we may treat with him, make terms for yielding.

_Ozias_.
We know his mind: he hath written it plain
In the torn flesh of our ambassadors.
His mind to us is death; we can but choose
Between sharp swords and the slow slaying of thirst.

_Judith_.
He may torment us if we yield.

_Ozias_.
He may.
But not to yield is grisly and sure torment.

_Judith_.
There must be hope, if we could reckon right!

_Ozias_.
Well, thou and God have five days more to build
A bridge of hope over our broken world.
And, for the town even now fearfully aches
In scalding thirst, not five days had I granted,
Had it not been for somewhat I must say
Secretly to thee.

_Judith_.