All heard the voice of a maiden singing, and turned to see whence it came.

A sweet voice it was, trembling in tones that told of ancient wrong, in words full of a new hope.

Had life and song come to one of those white marbles yonder?
Voice and word touched the heart of Vergilius--he knew not why; and this in part is the chant that stopped the revels of Antipater: "Lift up my soul; let me not be ashamed---I trust in Thee, God of my fathers; Send, quickly send, the new king whose arrows shall fly as the lightning, Making the mighty afraid and the proud to bow low and the wicked to tremble.
Soon let me hear the great song that shall sound in the deep of the heavens; Show me the lantern of light hanging low in the deep of the heavens." The voice of the singer grew faint and the lyre dropped from her hands.
They could see her reeling, and suddenly she fell headlong to the rug beneath her pedestal.

Antipater rose quickly with angry eyes.
"The accursed girl!" said he.

"A Galilean slave of my father.