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Hear you the mountain heights along
The thundering sound of nations spread, Embattled nations great and strong,
And monarchs shouting at their head! 'Midst them the God of Armies stands,
To battle marshaling their bands. They come, the weapons of his wrath, from far, From heaven's remotest ends, to waste the land
It comes the air with howlings rend
The day of God's terrific power: Vengeance comes with it, prompt to attend
The' Almighty's desolating hour. Nerveless each hand shall drop the spear,
Each heart of man shall melt with fear; Each look on each aghast, whilst wild dismay Their faces, pale as flames of livid fire, betray.
It comes, relentless in its course,
Wrath arms the' Almighty's vengeful hand; Fury rolls on with fiery force,
And sweeps the impious from the land. No stars shall glitter o'er the sky,
No constellations flame on high ; • The sickening sun shall veil his orient beams, Nor the moon cause her light to pour its silver
Shall feel; my terrors the unjust:
And fierce Oppression sink in dust.
A Man more precious will I make than gold, Than all the flaming ore the veins of Ophir hold.
The heavens shall tremble at my frown,
When all its fires my wrath awakes;
Its pillars as the Almighty shakes.
As wandering flocks, their shepherd lost, The relics of the sword in wild despair [there. Fly towards their native lands, to gain a shelter
In vain: the spear arrests their flight:
Dispersed, an easy prey they fall:
The greedy sword devours them all.
Shall feel the unsparing victor's rage;
Hosts, for whom silver has no charms;
Warriors, that joy in glittering arms.
Shall pierce the bleeding front of war;
That rears sublime her gorgeous brow,
In dust her rampired height shall bow;
Shall like the towns of Siddim lie
Waste with sulphureous flames from high; And o'er her silent streets and desert plain Shall Desolation hold her sad and dreary reign.
No more the’ Arabian, as of old,
Shall stretch his white tents o'er the mead;
And down the verdant pasture lead:
Conceal'd shall make his dreadful lair; . In ruin'd walls shall lodge the birds of night, And monsters howling wild the wasted streets
The daughters of the ostrich dwell;
Wolf howl to wolf with hideous yell;
That echoed once with festive song.
REV. R. POTTER.
THE SONG OF EXULTATION.
The spoil-gorged city is no more;
Sunk in the dust her towered walls:
Jehovah from his impious hand
That iron sceptre, whose impetuous force
Smote empires trembling at his rage.
And Peace recalls her golden age; Cheerful burst forth their shouts of joy, · Thy furious hand no more shall bleeding realms
The lordly Lebanon waves high
Their branching arms his cedars spread,
Tyrant, no barbarous axe invades,
An iron smile his visage wears;
His call each mighty chieftain hears;
And sceptred kings of empires wide [pride. Rise from their lofty thrones, and thus accost thy
Is this weak form of flitting air The potent Lord that fill’d the Assyrian throne ?
Thus are thy vaunted glories gone? Where thy rich feasts, thy sprightly viols where?
Beneath thee is corruption spread,
And worms the covering of thy bed! How art thou fallen, bright star of orient day,
How fallen from thy etherial height, Son of the Morning! Thou, whose sanguine ray
Glared terribly a baleful light;
War kindled at the blaze, and wild Rush'd Slaughter, Havoc rush'd, their robes with
" I in high heaven will be adored, Above the stars of God exalt my throne;
My power shall sacred Sion own,
Yawns to receive the vaunting God.
Shall view thee with attentive look : Is this the man, his thundering car who rollid,
That with pale terror kingdoms shook ?
Who waved o'er wasted towns his spear, Terror and Flight his van, Destruction in his rear?
Is this the man whose barbarous hate Bound captive monarchs in his galling chain;
While Outrage call'd his torturing train, And Rigour closed the dungeon's ruthless gate?
How from his high dominion hurld
The spoiler of the ravaged world! Kings, monarchs, heroes, warriors of renown,
Who greatly fought their realms to save, Each in his house of death in peace lies down,
With glory in his rock-hewn grave,
Amidst his chiefs, with honours graced, His sword beneath his head, his arms beside him
But thou shalt lie a thing abhorrd,
Clothed with the carnage of the plain,
Shalt thou with honour'd chiefs repose ?