When will the frowning Heav'n begin to smile?
Those pitchy clouds be overblown,
That hide the mighty town,
That I may see the mighty pile!
When will the angry Angel cease to slay,
And turn his brandish'd sword away
From that illustrious Golgotha,
80London, the great Aceldama!
When will that stately landscape open lie,
The mist withdrawn that intercepts my eye!