While sin and suffering, pain and death, still throw,
Their baleful shadow over all below?
Earth trembles at the cannon’s roar,
War’s murderous visage scours the plain;
Its fairest spots are drenched with gore,
Its fruitful fields are piled with slain.
And what are all these slow-revolving years,
But funeral pageants of distress and tears?
Contagions spread their wings of pall,
Fierce tempests rage with blasting breath,