Oh, How the Mighty Have Perished

I started reading through II Samuel and enjoyed Davids poem for the death of Saul and his son Jonathan. So I decided to do my best to rewrite it.

The King is dead and fallen from his might,
Upon Gilboa was he slain by force.
And all his men attempt to take their flight,
While daughters of thorns rejoicing coarse.

I pray it may not rain upon the mount,
Upsurging the waters makes shame more deep.
Defiled shields lay in plunder count,
God's anointed king, anointed they reap.

Blood is spilt when thorns are crossed,
The soil is nurtured as gain, our loss.
Keeping of the fallen many possessions,
So they may gain material ascension.

The king and his son I had loved them both,
Not divided in battle, I've seen in troth.
They were swifter than eagles, creating a trouble,
And stronger than lions, defeating the devil.

Oh daughters of the chosen, weep o'er the king,
Who provided bounty for thy land;
Who adorned you to make thy heart sing,
As he is reduced to merely sand.
Kings we think may never die,
But war then death comes crudely by.

And the son, my friend, with his father he lays,
This brother I claim was foiled in the fray.
The love he gave blessed me and all,
So here I kneel, to Israel I call.
How the fallen mighty we have cherished,
So by their swords they have perished.

By Evan Gunn Wilson