Thus ev­er­more
The saints’ av­eng­ing God
With His dread fires
Hath scathed th’un­ho­ly ground;
Nor wants there, wait­ing
Round th’up­lift­ed rod,
Watchers in Hea­ven and earth,
Ay faith­ful found.

God’s ar­mies op­en-eyed
His aim at­tend,
Wondering how oft
These warn­ing notes will peal,
Ere the great trump
Be blown, the Judge des­cend:
Man on­ly wears cold look
And heart of steel.

Age af­ter age,
Where An­ti­christ hath reigned,
Some flame-tipped ar­row
Of th’Al­migh­ty falls;
Imperial ci­ties
Lie in heaps pro­faned,
Fire blaz­es round
Apostate coun­cil-halls.

And if the world
Sin on, yet here and there
Some proud soul cow­ers,
Some scorn­er learns to pray;
Some slum­ber­er rouses
At the bea­con glare,
And trims his wan­ing lamps,
And waits for day.