HE cometh! he cometh! the death-dealing king;
His pale steed is fleet as the hurricane's wing:
Around him are ravening the monsters of hell,
Earth shrinks from their aspect, and shakes with their yell.
He cometh! he cometh! with sword dripping gore:
Desolation behind him, and terror before:
His banner of darkness above him is spread,
With pestilent vapour earth smokes at his tread.
Her kings and her captains oppose him in vain;
Her mantle no longer can cover her slain;
The great are down-trampled, the mighty ones fail,
And their armies are scatter'd like leaves on the gale.
The beasts of the forest exult o'er their prey,
Grim Slaughter mows onward his merciless way,
Gaunt Famine, and livid Disease, at his side,
O'er monarchs and nations triumphantly ride.
And now from their slumber the tempests awaken :
They rage, and the stars from their orbits are shaken;
The sun gathers blackness, the moon turns to blood,
The heavens pass away; and the isles from the flood.
And the mountains from earth, at the tumult retreat:
The prince and the peasant-the abject, the great-
The youthful, the aged-the fearful, the brave—
The strong man, the feeble-the freeman, the slave,
To caverns and dens for a hiding-place run;
But who the keen eye of Jehovah can shun?
From his face to conceal them, despairing they call
To the rocks and the mountains upon them to fall:
In vain; for the day of decision at last
Has dawn'd, and the season of mercy is past:
He cometh from heaven, with the sword and the rod,
Who shall tread in his fury the wine-press of God.
His angel the fowls is inviting aloud
To the carnage of steeds and their riders to crowd,
Whose flesh shall be mangled, whose blood shall be spill'd,
That the vultures and ravens may eat and be fill'd.
He cometh! he cometh! how glorious the sight!
His horse as the snow newly fallen is white;
On his head are the crowns that betoken his power,
From his eyes flash red lightnings his foes to devour.
In blood has the vesture been dipp'd that he wears,
And a name on his thigh and his vesture he bears;
The Sovereign of sovereigns, that loftiest of names,
And Lord of all lords, its possessor proclaims.
And white are the horses, as snow without stain,
Of the thousands of thousands who ride in his train;
And white and unspotted the robes he has given
To be worn on this day by the armies of heaven.
The bow in his hand, lo! unerring he bends,
With the sword from his mouth every spirit he rends
By his rod are down-smitten all they that oppose,
And from conquering to conquer resistless he goes.
The beast, the false prophet, and Satan, and death,
He thrusts to the pit that is yawning beneath;
Where tortures unceasing their vitals shall rend,
And the smoke of their torment for ever ascend.
But see, where his presence the darkness illumes,
How lovely the aspect creation assumes!
New heavens, a new earth, a new ocean arise
That fill every heart with a welcome surprise.
A city majestic and spacious appears,
Which sin cannot enter, where dried are all tears;
With beauty resplendent, from dangers secure ;
Where fruits as perennial, and waters as pure
As He who erects it, the blessed await!
With shoutings of triumph they enter the gate,
With God, their Redeemer, for ever to reign,
And it closes on all but the Lamb and his train.
His waking thoughts are like a flame
That burns within him-fierce, though dim!
Like fever in his wasting frame,
That thrills through every quaking limb:
His dreams of rest-no rest to him-
Are fill'd with phantoms of affright;
Phantoms of happy days, that swim
Around him on the clouds of night.
His life is an oppressive load,
That hangs upon him like a curse;
For all the pleasure-thoughts that glow'd,
Are now extinguish'd by Remorse!
And death-oh, death! 'tis worse! 'tis worse!
How dreadful in the grave to lie,
Yet sleep not!-evermore to nurse
The worm that will not, cannot die!
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