And with songs of triumph proclaim it.

Let there be no more dew,
Gilboa, upon thy mountains!
Over thy fields of offerings fair,
Holden be all heaven's fountains.

For there the shield of the mighty,
Even Saul's shield, to-day,
As though he was ne'er the Anointed of God,
Is vilely cast away.

Till the foe in his blood lay stricken
Or cloven through and through,
The bow of Jonathan turned not back,
The sword of Saul still slew.

Lovely were they in their lives,
In death undivided they lay,
They were swifter than mountain eagles,
Stronger than lions at bay.

Weep, ye daughters of Israel,
Weep over Saul your King,
Who clothed you with scarlet and decked you with gold
And filled you with every good thing.

How are the mighty fallen,
And all their boasts in vain!
There on Gilboa's high places,