Classic Poem

O friends! your groundless rage suppress,
The wrath of man is proud,
And worketh not the righteousness,
But brings the wrath of God.

Rash judging him in whom is found
The sacred matter's root,
Your darts will on yourselves rebound,
To 'venge the wrong pursuit.

Of justice' sword stand you afraid,
When by th' Almighty drawn;
His vengeance will your heads invade,
Not on your treach'ry fawn.

In fierce uncharitable zeal
You're furiously devout;
But cover'd fraud God will reveal,
And to the flames allot.

Know that the day approaches fast,
In which the Judge supreme,
Will all your bloody censures cast,
Your bitter words condemn.

Repent, then, lest your violence
Bring present judgments home;
Else will your proud impenitence
Fortell your future doom.