The Gathering Clouds, with Aspect Dark

The ga­ther­ing clouds

with as­pect dark

A ris­ing storm pre­sage;

Oh! to be hid with­in the ark

And shel­tered from its rage!

See the com­mis­sioned an­gel frown!

That vi­al in his hand

Filled with fierce wrath

is pour­ing down

Upon our guil­ty land!

Ye saints

unite in wrest­ling pray­er;

If yet there may be hope;

Who knows but Mer­cy yet may spare

And bid the an­gel stop?

Already is the plague be­gun

And fired with hos­tile rage;

Brethren

by blood and in­ter­est one

With breth­ren now en­gage.

Peace spreads her wings

pre­pared for flight

And war

with flam­ing sword

And has­ty strides draws nigh

to fight

The bat­tles of the Lord.

The first alarm

alas

how few

While dist­ant

seem to hear!

But they will hear

and trem­ble too

When God shall send it near.

So thun­der

o’er the dist­ant hills

Gives but a mur­mu­ring sound

But as the tem­pest spreads

it fills

And shakes the sky around.

May we

at least

with one con­sent

Fall low be­fore the throne

With tears the na­tion’s sins la­ment

The Church’s

and our own.

The hum­ble souls who mourn and pray

The Lord ap­proves and knows;

His mark se­cures them in the day

When ven­geance strikes His foes.