The chariot! The chariot!
Its wheels roll in fire
As the Lord cometh down
In the pomp of his ire!
Lo! Self moving it drives
On its pathway of clouds
And the heavens with the burden
Of Godhead are bowed
O Mercy! O Mercy!
Look down from above
Great Creator on us
Thy sad children with love
When beneath, to their darkness
The wicked are driven
May our justified souls
Find a welcome in heaven
Этот текст прочитали 482 раз.