Classic Poem

Praise ye the Lord, for evermore,
And sound his fame abroad;
Salvation, honour, glory, pow'r,
Be to the Lord our God;

For true and right his judgments were,
Who judg'd the harlot great,
Whose whoredoms vile did ev'ry where
Corrupt the earth of late.

Let prayers be to praises chang'd
For at at her hand his sword
Has now his servants blood aveng'd,
Amen, praise ye the Lord.

'Tis just that she the blood repay
Of saints her hands have slain,
Let singers Hallelujahs say,
Praise ye the Lord, Amen.