 | Jones Very : The Complete Poems |  |
185
The Plagues of Egypt
I see them spreading o'er the land,
The swarming locust fly;
More numerous than the small-grained sand,
They speed them from on high.
The swarming locust fly;
More numerous than the small-grained sand,
They speed them from on high.
O'er golden crops that gallant waved,
O'er groves with foliage green;
They march; not e'en the grass is saved,
Nor hill nor flood can screen.
O'er groves with foliage green;
They march; not e'en the grass is saved,
Nor hill nor flood can screen.
And lice within men's dwellings creep,
More small than finest dust;
Their kneading troughs, and where they sleep;
They eat their flesh like rust.
More small than finest dust;
Their kneading troughs, and where they sleep;
They eat their flesh like rust.
Repent! e'er yet your eldest born,
Be stricken at your side;
Repent! e'er yet ye see the morn,
The wave with blood be dyed.
Be stricken at your side;
Repent! e'er yet ye see the morn,
The wave with blood be dyed.
For He who lives will Israel call,
From out their bondage sore;
And Egypt's pride again shall fall,
And Egypt's sons deplore.
From out their bondage sore;
And Egypt's pride again shall fall,
And Egypt's sons deplore.
Poem No. 267; summer–fall 1839
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