ghten it by a song of praise? Where is Brother Thistlethwaite,
whose voice is as the cymbal, the tabor, and the dulcimer?'

'Lo, most pious Master Pettigrue,' said Saxon, 'I have myself at times
ventured to lift up my voice before the Lord.' Without any further
apology he broke out in stentorian tones into the following hymn, the
refrain of which was caught up by pastor and congregation.

The Lord He is a morion
That guards me from all wound;
The Lord He is a coat of mail
That circles me all round.
Who then fears to draw the sword,
And fight the battle of the Lord?

The Lord He is the buckler true
That swings on my left arm;
The Lord He is the plate of proof
That shieldeth me from harm.
Who then fears to draw the sword,
And fight the battle of the Lord?

Who then dreads the violent,
Or fears the man of pride?
Or shall I flee from two or three
If He be by my side?
Who then fears to draw the sword,
And fight the battle of the Lord!

My faith is like a citadel
Girt round with moat and wall,
No mine, or sap, or breach, or gap
Can ere prevail at all.
Who then fears to draw the sword,
And fight the battle of the Lord?

Saxon ceased, but the Reverend Joshua Pettigrue waved his long arms and
repeated the refrain, which was taken up again and again by the long
column of marching peasants.

'It is a godly hymn,' said our companion, who had, to my disgust and
to the evident astonishment of Reuben and Sir Gervas, resumed the
snuffling, whining voice which he had used in the presence of my father.
'It hath availed much on the field of battle.'

'Truly,' returned the clergyman, 'if your comrades are of as sweet
a savour as yourself, ye will be worth a brigade of pikes to the
faithful,' a sentiment which raised a murmur of assent from the Puritans
around. 'Since, sir,' he continued, 'you have had much experience in the
wiles of war, I shall be glad to hand over to you the command of this
small body of the faithful, until such time as we reach the army.'

'It is time, too, in good faith, that ye had a soldier at your head,'
Decimus Saxon answered quietly. 'My eyes deceive me strangely if I
do not see the gleam of sword and cuirass upon the brow of yonder
declivity. Methi