When the fierce North-wind with his airy forces Rears up the Baltic to a foaming fury; And the red lightning with a storm of hail comes Rushing amain down; How the poor sailors stand amazed and tremble, While the hoarse thunder, like a bloody trumpet, Roars a loud onset to the gaping waters Quick to devour them. Such shall the noise be, and the wild disorder (If things eternal may be like these earthly), Such the dire terror when the great Archangel Shakes the creation; Stop here, my fancy: (all away, ye horrid Doleful ideas!) come, arise to Jesus, How He sits God-like! and the saints around Him Throned, yet adoring! O may I sit there when He comes triumphant, Dooming the nations! then ascend to glory, While our Hosannas all along the passage Shout the Redeemer!
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