Now let the Sons of Belial hear
The thunders of the Lord;
Unfold their long rebellious ear,
And tremble at His Word.
Now let the iron sinew bow,
And take His easy yoke;
Lest sudden vengeance lay it low,
By one resistless stroke.
Though yet the great Physician wait,
And healing balm be found;
One hour may seal their endless fate,
And fix a deadly wound.
Swift may Thy mercy, Lord, arise,
Ere justice stop their breath;
And lighten these deluded eyes,
That sleep the sleep of death.