1. W e are not come to the burning brow,
Whence the fiery streams of vengeance flow,
To the voice of words, and the trumpet-sound,
Where the prostrate hosts lay quaking round;
2. But we are come to the angels’ abode,
That numberless wait round the throne of God,
Tothechurch of the first-born enroll’d on high,
And the spirits of saints who no more may die;
3. And we are come to the sprinkled shrine,
Where Justice and Mercy unitedly shine,
And the still, small voice of the blood that shed
It’s blessing on the murderer’s head:
4.’Tis “Peace” to us our God thus speaks,
Before His vengeance in thunder breaks;
He shall shake the skies, the seas and the shore,
He shall shake them once, and shall shake no
,jnore.