The Lord tremenduous in the thunder call'd;
I heard thy mighty voice and stood appall'd;
Thro' the successive season's of the year,
Let thy indulgent mercy still appear;
And when vindictive wrath thou shalt extend
Thy clemency, thy power shall far transcend.
From Teman's heights the Lord triumphant came,
From Paran's mount resound's his holy name;
O'er Heaven's high concave, wide his banners blaze,
And utmost earth reiterates his praise;
Upon his awful front effulgence shone,
Bright as the light round his eternal throne;
His opening hands mysterious horns reveal'd,
Where he his power omnipotent conceal'd;
Before his face wide desolation spread,
And couflagrations issu'd from his tread.
He stood upon the earth with hand divine,
Measuring the circling sphere as with a line;
He view'd the num'rous nations of the world;
The nations round were to confusion hurl'd;
The tow'ring hills were in disorder thrown;
And the perpetual mountains tumbl'd down.
O how terrific is thy mighty name;
Thy ways are everlastingly the same.
I saw the tents of Cushan shake with fear,
And Median's curtains tremble in despair;
Was all thy vengeance for the river stor'd,
Or had their tossing waves displeas'd the Lord?
Or was thy anger on the foaming flood,
When thou triumphant in thy chariot stood?
Riding thy horses thro' the foaming sea,
Thy chariots of salvation to display;
Thy bow shone naked in the front of Heaven,
Like the appeals which by the tribes are given;
With rivers thou didst subdivide the land,
And the high mountains shook beneath thy hand;
Vast inundations drench'd the fertile plain,
And from its bottom toss'd the surging main,
Beating its billows o'er the yellow sands,
And tortur'd, seems on high to hold his hands.
The glorious luminars of night and day,
In Heaven transfix'd, forgot their wonted way;
But as thy arrows cleave the yielding air,
To their accustom'd circles they repair,
Mov'd by the influence of thy glittering spear.
In fury thou didst march athwart the land,
Threshing the heathen with vindictive hand:
Forth march'd the Lord salvation to obtain,
Salvation for his saints elect to gain:
The blood of the chief wicked thou hast spilt,
By striking the foundation of their guilt;
The chief in vain sought succour in his slaves,
Thou smote the servants with the master's staves.
Forth like a storm th' unrighteous rabble pour,
The indigent and feeble to devour;
Triumphantly thy horses thou bestrode,
And thro' the congregated waters rode.
I heard thy voice, courage my soul forsook,
My bowels trembled, my whole system shook;
A sudden cloud of doubts my mind o'ercast,
Fearful to find salvation at the last.
When forth he marches in sublime parade,
He with his hosts the people shall invade.
What tho' no fruit the luscious fig-tree bear,
What tho' no blossoms on the vine appear;
Tho' the fat olive shall her fruit deny,
And autumn her kind stores no more supply;
By fell distempers tho' the cattle fall,
And flocks and herds shall perish in the stall;
Yet arm'd by hope, in Heaven I will rejoice,
And to my Saviour tune my cheerful voice;
'Tis he, the Lord, on whom I have reclin'd,
Shall make me nimble, as the wanton hind;
With vaulting feet, elate to dance on high,
To the soft sounds of melting melody.
I heard thy mighty voice and stood appall'd;
Thro' the successive season's of the year,
Let thy indulgent mercy still appear;
And when vindictive wrath thou shalt extend
Thy clemency, thy power shall far transcend.
From Teman's heights the Lord triumphant came,
From Paran's mount resound's his holy name;
O'er Heaven's high concave, wide his banners blaze,
And utmost earth reiterates his praise;
Upon his awful front effulgence shone,
Bright as the light round his eternal throne;
His opening hands mysterious horns reveal'd,
Where he his power omnipotent conceal'd;
Before his face wide desolation spread,
And couflagrations issu'd from his tread.
He stood upon the earth with hand divine,
Measuring the circling sphere as with a line;
He view'd the num'rous nations of the world;
The nations round were to confusion hurl'd;
The tow'ring hills were in disorder thrown;
And the perpetual mountains tumbl'd down.
O how terrific is thy mighty name;
Thy ways are everlastingly the same.
I saw the tents of Cushan shake with fear,
And Median's curtains tremble in despair;
Was all thy vengeance for the river stor'd,
Or had their tossing waves displeas'd the Lord?
Or was thy anger on the foaming flood,
When thou triumphant in thy chariot stood?
Riding thy horses thro' the foaming sea,
Thy chariots of salvation to display;
Thy bow shone naked in the front of Heaven,
Like the appeals which by the tribes are given;
With rivers thou didst subdivide the land,
And the high mountains shook beneath thy hand;
Vast inundations drench'd the fertile plain,
And from its bottom toss'd the surging main,
Beating its billows o'er the yellow sands,
And tortur'd, seems on high to hold his hands.
The glorious luminars of night and day,
In Heaven transfix'd, forgot their wonted way;
But as thy arrows cleave the yielding air,
To their accustom'd circles they repair,
Mov'd by the influence of thy glittering spear.
In fury thou didst march athwart the land,
Threshing the heathen with vindictive hand:
Forth march'd the Lord salvation to obtain,
Salvation for his saints elect to gain:
The blood of the chief wicked thou hast spilt,
By striking the foundation of their guilt;
The chief in vain sought succour in his slaves,
Thou smote the servants with the master's staves.
Forth like a storm th' unrighteous rabble pour,
The indigent and feeble to devour;
Triumphantly thy horses thou bestrode,
And thro' the congregated waters rode.
I heard thy voice, courage my soul forsook,
My bowels trembled, my whole system shook;
A sudden cloud of doubts my mind o'ercast,
Fearful to find salvation at the last.
When forth he marches in sublime parade,
He with his hosts the people shall invade.
What tho' no fruit the luscious fig-tree bear,
What tho' no blossoms on the vine appear;
Tho' the fat olive shall her fruit deny,
And autumn her kind stores no more supply;
By fell distempers tho' the cattle fall,
And flocks and herds shall perish in the stall;
Yet arm'd by hope, in Heaven I will rejoice,
And to my Saviour tune my cheerful voice;
'Tis he, the Lord, on whom I have reclin'd,
Shall make me nimble, as the wanton hind;
With vaulting feet, elate to dance on high,
To the soft sounds of melting melody.