Written by
Thomas Moore |
Avenging and bright fall the swift sword of Erin
On him who the brave sons of Usna betray'd! --
For every fond eye he hath waken'd a tear in
A drop from his heart-wounds shall weep o'er her blade.
By the red cloud that hung over Conor's dark dwelling,
When Ulad's three champions lay sleeping in gore --
By the billows of war, which so often, high swelling,,
Have wafted these heroes to victory's shore --
We swear to avenge them! -- no joy shall be tasted,
The harp shall be silent, the maiden unwed,
Our halls shall be mute, and our fields shall lie wasted,
Till vengeance is wreak'd on the murderer's head.
Yes, monarch! though sweet are our home recollections,
Though sweet are the tears that from tenderness fall;
Though sweet are our friendships, our hopes, our affections,
Revenge on a tyrant is sweetest of all!
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Written by
Isaac Watts |
v.1,5,8,16,21,22
C. M.
The judgment of hypocrites.
When Christ to judgment shall descend,
And saints surround their Lord,
He calls the nations to attend,
And hear his awful word.
"Not for the want of bullocks slain
Will I the world reprove;
Altars, and rites, and forms are vain,
Without the fire of love.
"And what have hypocrites to do
To bring their sacrifice?
They call my statutes just and true,
But deal in theft and lies.
"Could you expect to 'scape my sight,
And sin without control?
But I shall bring your crimes to light,
With anguish in your soul."
Consider, ye that slight the Lord,
Before his wrath appear,
If once you fall beneath his sword,
There's no deliv'rer there.
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