HYMN XII.
PART VI.
[Yet first the stricken earth shall mourn]
Yet first the stricken earth shall mourn,
And deepest night obscure the skies,
I will not from My purpose turn,
Resolved My rebels to chastise.
My rebels shall with panic dread
Before the furious horsemen fly,
Climb the steep rocks with desperate speed,
Or panting in the thickets lie.
The cities shall be all forsook:
Ah! Sion, whither wilt thou go?
To whom for help or rescue look,
When ravaged by the' invading foe?
Adorn thee with thy richest dress,
With gems and gold their hearts to gain,
Colour with nicest art thy face,
And strive to please, but all in vain.
Thy beauty cannot take their eyes,
Or turn thy lovers' wrath away;
Thy lovers shall thy charms despise,
And seek, whom they abhor, to slay.
For I have heard a voice of woes,
And shrill complaints that pierce the skies,
Loud as a woman in her throes,
Sion's afflicted daughter cries.
Weary to death, she spreads her hands,
And wails her loss, and speaks her pain,
“Ah! woe is me, the ruffian bands
Have all my hapless children slain!”
