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RICHMOND.
79
Death, death on the plains, in the vales, by the wave;Death, ghastly and stiff without coffin or grave;Death clutching the bayonet—grasping the gun—And the heat of God's anger ablaze in the sun! O Richmond, beware!They die who the wrath of Omnipotence dare.
But the white dove of mercy above thee still flies,And the rain of fire dashes not down the veiled skies:'Tis the lull, the long pause ere the vial is poured,And the plagues are let loose that run after the sword. Midway the bolt stays:Love waits for repentance, and Justice delays.
Sink down in the dust; own thy sins of the past;Let the bondman go free in thy borders at last;While the hill-sides resound with thy suppliant cry,Peradventure the Lord God will hear and reply: If his grace thou derideHis arm will be lifted—then woe to thy pride!
