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Whose bickering falchions, foremost in the fight,
At Albion's call your crested pride resume,
Your sons behold, in arm, in heart the same,
When he, from towery Malta's yielding isle,
Oh day of death! Oh thirst, beyond control,
Yet still destruction sweeps the lonely plain,
away. Then on your tops shall deathless verdure spring ; Break forth, ye mountains, and, ye valleys, sing! No more your thirsty rocks shall frown forlorn, The unbeliever's jest, the heathen's scorn ;
The sultry sands shall tenfold harvests yield,
every gate, and measures every tower; And chides the tardy seals that yet detain Thy Lion, Judah, from his destin'd reign !
And who is He? the vast, the awful form, Girt with the whirlwind, sandal'd with the storm ? A western cloud around his limbs is spread, His crown a rainbow, and a sun his head. To highest heaven he lifts his kingly hand, And treads at once the ocean and the land ; And, hark! his voice amid the thunder's roar, His dreadful voice, that time shall be no more!
Lo! cherub hands the golden courts prepare, Lo! thrones arise, and every saint is there ; Earth's utmost bounds confess their awful sway, The mountains worship, and the isles obey; Nor
sun nor moon they need,—nor day, nor night; God is their temple, and the Lamb their light: And shall not Israel's sons exulting come, Hail the glad beam, and claim their ancient home?
On David's throne shall David's offspring reign,
raise, And the hoarse flood repeats the sound of praise ; Ten thousand harps attune the mystic song, Ten thousand thousand saints the strain prolong; - Worthy the Lamb! omnipotent to save, 6 Who died, who lives, triumphant o'er the grave!" EUROPE: