On the Commencement of Hostilities in America

I

The gath’ring clouds, with aspect dark,
A rising storm presage;
Oh! to be hid within the ark,
And shelter’d from its rage!

II

See the commission’d angel frown!
That vial in his hand,
Fill’d with fierce wrath, is pouring down
Upon our guilty land!

III

Ye saints, unite in wrestling pray’r,
If yet there may be hope;
Who knows but mercy yet may spare,
And bid the angel stop?

IV

Already is the plague begun,
And, fired with hostile rage,
Brethren, by blood and interest one,
With brethren now engage.

V

Peace spreads her wings, prepared for flight;
And war, with flaming sword
And hasty strides, draws nigh, to fight
The battles of the Lord.

VI

The first alarm, alas, how few,
While distant, seem to hear!
But they will hear, and tremble too,
When God shall send it near.

VII

So thunder o’er the distant hills
Gives but a murm’ring sound;
But as the tempest spreads, it falls
And shakes the welkinround.

VIII

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.

IX

The humble souls who mourn and pray
The Lord approves and knows;
His mark secures them in the day
When vengeance strikes his foes.