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By wrath first kindled, and by justice fed:
So wide it rag'd, that scarce its quenchless sweep,
Would heed the limits of the watry deep.
Ah! who shall stay its force, or crush its power?
Our God—preserve us in this awful hour!
Again I pray'd, and wept, and deeply mourn'd:
"This also shall not he," the same dread voice return'd.
Repent—Repent! ye rebel race! I cry'd;
Go, mourn, and seek your God, ye sons of pride;
At that dread name, with fearful rev'rence bend,
Ye sinful seed of Abraham, his friend.
Ye scorn the stranger, on the poor ye press,
Ye wound the widow, and the fatherless,
Ye scoff at justice, every sin ye know,
And give to idols, what to God ye owe;
Scorn and contempt, upon his laws ye cast,
And think ye to escape his righteous wrath at last.
Stain'd with your guilt, the page of fate unrolls,
Its crimson lines shall enter to your souls;
Captivity and pain, its records shew,
Deep lamentation, mourning, tears, and woe.
Your palace shakes! a sword in life-blood dy'd,
Is drawn all reeking from your prince's side:
The sounds of treason clamour in the air,
Murder, and strife, and foul revolt are there:
