A changeless God hath said he will, in wrath,
Turn nations that forget him into hell :
Trace thou, in retrospect, the gloomy path
Of wicked cities down to hades, and tell
If his vindictive fury never fell
Upon offenders. Ah! as sure as he
Sits on his throne and wields his scepter well,
Unless thou dost repent, he'll visit thee
With dire destruction —this thine end shall be.
Wait not till other vials are outpoured,
Wait not till other woes upon thee fall,
Avoid the plagues which for thee have been stored,
Rise from thy gory bed, to heaven call,
And God in mercy will again install
Thee in thy former glory, purified
From thy deep stains of guilt, and disenthrall
Thee from oppression's power, by which have died 'hy sons by millions, midst destructions wide.
Ah! France, we do remember, in our night
Of trial, in " those times that tried men's souls,"
When proud oppression sought, with wicked might,
To bind our limbs, enforce her greedy tolls,
And of protection grant us scanty doles;
Thy heart for us beat warmly in thy breast,
Thy gallant soldiers swelled our army roj
Thy La Fayette, in memory ever blessed, Stood by our Washington, and our deep wrongs redressed.
The Tree of Liberty, which now o'erspreads
Our happy land, was watered by the blood
Of thy brave sons who bowed in death their heads,
And, but for them, oppression, like a flood,
Might us have overwhelmed, and spawned its brood
O'er all this western world. To thee we owe,
For this, a debt of lasting gratitude.
We wish thee well, and pray that thou mayst know, Ere long, the blessings which to true Republics flow.
Great city, on the seven mountains throned,
The storm that deluged France hath shaken thee;
Thou hast not yet for all thy sins atoned,
Though flowing blood hath reddened land and sea,
And plagues have filled thy realms with misery ;
From thee not passed the darkness and the pain,
Though from thy woes thy Pope was forced to flee
Thrice, while thy streets were heaped with many
slain, And gathering armies choked thy desolate Champaigne.
And Italy, the blow which prostrates France
Doth weld anew the scepter of thy king,
Unbolt those heavy gates and bid advance
His hosts, and over Rome his banners fling,
And make her domes with Freedom's pæons ring;
Doth make for aye the Eternal City thine,
The bread of life unto her children bring,
The light from heaven upon her darkness shine,Shine from THE OPEN BOOK, all glorious, all benign.
Victor Emmanuel, all hail !
Thy name, a happy omen to the world,
Means—“God with us,” before whom despots quail,
And foes to swift destruction shall be hurled.
See that the banner thou hast now unfurled
Is never stained by foul oppression's hands ;--
See that thy crown, with rarest gems impearled,
Shall shine undimmed o'er all thy sunny lands; And millions shall uphold thee where thy throne now
stands.
Poor Pope, alas ! we really pity thee,
Dispoiled of all thy earthly realms at last,-
Thou who hast claimed infallibility,
From great pretensions down so quickly cast.
But thou art doomed; hear now the trumpet blast,
For fallen, fallen, is great Babylon !
To blank oblivion thou art hasting fast,
When better days will dawn the world upon. Thee fallen, Christ shall sit, instead, upon the throne,
True, thou mayst call thy minions to thine aid, -
For millions yet before thee bow the knee,-
And thou mayst preach another great crusade
To bring revolted States aback to thee,
T' restore the glory of the Papal See.
But warning take, for warning sure is given,
Filled to the brim thy cup of wrath shall be ;
Nor with new crimes inflame the wrath of heaven. Repent, or with more fires be scorched, more thunders
riven.
But now awhile from these dread tempests sore,
Which did o'er Europe's realms so fiercely rave,
To waste the dragon and cast down the whore,
We turn to where thy floods, Euphrates, lave
The Orient shores, which God in wrath once gave
To the false prophet. See what him befalls;-
For sure, a people God hath there to save,
For whom he breaks the bondage that enthralls Those realms;—he to his work th' avenging angel
From Araby, the land of rocks and sands,
There flowed a wondrous river long ago,
And, though it had its source in desert lands,
Far o'er the world its murmuring floods did flow.
'Tis said, great prodigies the earth did show,
When from the rended rocks its waters sprung ;-
She was with earthquakes shaken to and fro,
While clouds and darkness in her welkin hung,
And sunk a wide-spread lake her yawning deeps among.
A heathen shrine received attention, too,
Whose fire, supposed divine, had ages burned,
The idol of that fire-adoring crew,
Who, in the East, have true religion spurned.
Its fire is quenched, its light to darkness turned,
And many other portents shadowed forth,
(Though what they were 'tis bootless to have
learned)
That, in the East, the West, the South, the North, These wrangling, swelling waters should o'erflow the
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