The gathering clouds, with aspect dark

On the commencement of hostilities in America by John Newton


 * The gathering clouds, with aspect dark,
 * A rising storm presage;
 * O! to be hid within the ark,
 * And sheltered from its rage!


 * See the commissioned angel frown!
 * That vial in his hand,
 * Filled with fierce wrath, is pouring down
 * Upon our guilty land!


 * Ye saints, unite in wrestling prayer;
 * If yet there may be hope;
 * Who knows but Mercy yet may spare,
 * And bid the angel stop!


 * Already is the plague begun,
 * And fired with hostile rage;
 * Brethren, by blood and interest one,
 * With brethren now engage.


 * Peace spreads her wings, prepared for flight,
 * And war, with flaming sword,
 * And hasty strides draws nigh, to fight
 * The battles of the Lord.


 * The first alarm, alas, how few,
 * While distant, seem to hear!
 * But they will hear, and tremble too,
 * When God shall send it near.


 * So thunder, o’er the distant hills,
 * Gives but a murm’ring sound,
 * But as the tempest spreads, it fills,
 * And makes the welkin sound.


 * May we, at least, with one consent,
 * Fall low before the throne
 * With tears the nation’s sins lament,
 * The churches, and our own.


 * The humble souls who mourn and pray,
 * The Lord approves and knows;
 * His mark secures them in the day
 * When vengeance strikes his foes.