CCXIII. Rebels against CHRIST executed.

HE comes; the royal Conqu'ror comes;
His Legions fill the Sky;
Angelick Trumpets rend the Tombs,
And loud proclaim him nigh.

Ye rebel Hosts, how vain your Rage
Against this sov'reign Lord?
What Madness bears you on t' engage
The Terrors of his Sword?

"Bring forth (he cries) those Sons of Pride,
"That scorn'd my gentle Sway,
"To prove the Arm they once defy'd
"Omnipotent to slay".

Tremendous Scene of Wrath divine!
How wide the Vengeance spreads!
His pointed Darts of Light'ning shine
Round their defenceless Heads.

Now let the Rebels seek that Face,
From which hey cannot flee?
And thou, my Soul, adore the Grace,
That sweetly conquer'd thee.