Then prone in dust fell prince and peer, in lowly worship mute!
The wise, the gifted, and the great, the lordly and the base
Before the image bent the knee, and bowed in dust the face.

_Not all!_--for lo, three princely men, with calm, unaltered mien,
With unbowed heads and folded arms, gaze on the unhallowed scene!
The golden image awes them not, nor yet the king's decree,
They bow not at the idol's shrine, nor bend the servile knee.

"Wake, sackbut, psaltery, and harp--wake yet again!"--but nay,
With calm, pale faces, sad and stern, they slowly turn away;
The monarch's wrath, the furnace-flame, death, _death,_--they know it
all--
Yet all these horrors powerless are those high hearts to appal!

Haste, haste, obsequious minions, bear the tidings to your lord!
Go, tell him there are some who dare to disobey his word;
Men of the captive, Hebrew race, men high in place and power,
Who scorn to bow their haughty necks at his command this hour!

"Go, bring them nigh!" the monarch cries, with fury in his face,
"And set them here before my throne, these men of Hebrew race!
Now, Shadrach, Meshach, answer me, and thou, Abednego,
They tell me ye refuse to bow and worship!--is it so?

"But hearken: if, what time ye hear once more the pealing swell
Of sackbut, psaltery, and harp, ye bend in homage--well;
If not, the fiery furnace shall your quivering flesh devour!
Then where's the God can rescue you from my avenging power?"