So the keen bolt a warrior angel aims,
Array'd in clouds, and wrapt in mantling flames,
He bears a tempest on his sounding wings,
And his red arm the forky vengeance flings;
At length, heav'n's wrath appeas'd, he quits the war,
To roll his orb, and guide his destin'd star,
To shed kind fate, and lucky hours bestow,
And smile propitious on the world below.
Around thy throne shall faithful nobles wait,
These guard the church, and those direct the state,
To , graceful in maternal tears,
The church her tow'ry forehead gently rears,
She begs her pious son t' assert her cause,
Defend her rights, and reinforce her laws,
With holy zeal the sacred work begin,
To bend the stubborn and the meek to win.