Smiting of The First Born

The darkest hour before the dawn's first gleam,
A silent dread hung heavy in the air,
As through the land, a sorrowful, dark stream
Of unseen doom, no mortal could repair,
Crept into homes where Hebrew hearts did dwell,
And those where Pharaoh's cruel command held sway.
No cries announced the angel's bitter spell,
Just sudden stillness at the close of day.
From humble cot to palace grand and wide,
A single breath was hushed, a life took flight,
And Egypt's joy in utter ruin died.
The price of bondage in that awful night
Was paid in tears, a grief beyond compare,
As firstborn sons lay still beyond all care.

Gospel, Melancholic