JOANNA'S PROPHECY.
Woe, Albion, to thy cities proud!
Death hovers o'er the fated crowd,
Fly to some wood-embosom'd home,
Far from the city's splendid dome,
Fly, fly, whilst yet you may!
Woe to the day of fear and dread,
The day the blest Redeemer bled!
E'en in the consecrated hour,
Again shall midnight darkness lour,
And cloud the noon-tide ray.
Death hovers o'er the fated crowd,
Fly to some wood-embosom'd home,
Far from the city's splendid dome,
Fly, fly, whilst yet you may!
Woe to the day of fear and dread,
The day the blest Redeemer bled!
E'en in the consecrated hour,
Again shall midnight darkness lour,
And cloud the noon-tide ray.
