Our quicken'd sense will the echo hear,
Like blast of horn to the timid deer.
In pleasant tones will the echoes be,
Of words of love and of happy glee,
Which we address to the friends we love,
Or offer up to our Lord above.
But, unlike those, all the echoes heard,
Of angry tones, and each sword-like word;
As we here mete to our fellow men,
The Judge shall mete in full measure then.