Kind Heav'n! is this the pomp that thou dost raise?
This thy rejoicing on festival days?
To hear thy angry threats proclaim aloud
Thy dismal vengeance on the guilty crowd,
We kiss the hand from whence these terrors come.
And own our well-deserved and fatal doom.
We take the omen which thou'rt pleased to give.
Our errors we repent. Then let us live.
Thou spurn'st to see this day neglected lie,
Another shining with vain pageantry.