But oh, my lyre, what accents can relate
Sinful man's appointed sate!
He comes, he comes! th' avenging God!
Clouds and darkness round him roll:
Tremble, earth! Ye mountains, nod!
He bows the skies, and shakes the pole.
The gloomy banners of his wrath unfurl'd,
He calls the floods, to drown a guilty world:
"Ruin, lift thy baleful head;
" Rouze the guilty world from sleep:
"Lead up thy billows from their cavern'd bed,
" And burst the rocks that chain thee in the deep. —
Now, th' impetuous torrents rise;
The hoarse-ascending deluge roars:
Down rush the cataracts from the skies;
The swelling waves o'erwhelm the shores.
Just, O God, is thy decree!
Shall guilty man contend with thee!
Lo, Hate and Envy, sea-entomb'd,
And Rage with Lust in ruin sleep;
And scoffing Luxury is doom'd
To glut the vast and ravenous deep! —
In vain from Fate th' astonish'd remnant flies: —
"Shrink, ye rocks! Ye oceans, rise!" —
The tottering cliffs no more the floods controul;
Sea following sea ingulphs the ball:
O'er the sunk hills the watry mountains roll,
And wide Destruction swallows all:
Now fiercer let th' impassion'd numbers glow:
Swell the song, ye mighty choir!
Wing your dreadful darts with fire!
Hear me, monarch! — Guilt is woe! —