The crowds who fill thy gates shall pass away,

As night's dim shadows flee the eye of day.

No patriot voice thy glory shall recall,

No eye shall weep, no tongue lament thy fall.

The day of vengeance comes—the awful hour—

Fraught with the terrors of almighty power;

The arm of God is raised against thy walls;

Destruction hovers o'er thy princely halls,

[Pg 67]

Flings his red banner to the rising wind,

While death's stern war-cry echoes far behind.

When the full horrors of that hour are felt,

The warrior's heart shall as the infant's melt;

Counsel shall flee the learned and the old,

And fears unfelt before shall tame the bold.

Woe for thee, Babylon!—thy men of might

Shall fall unhonoured in the sanguine fight;

Like the chased roe thy hosts disordered fly,

And those who turn to strive but turn to die.

Thy young men tremble and thy maids grow pale,

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