The thunders of judgement and wrath Are numbered and harboured in south In the likeness of an oak whose braches Are nests of Lamentation And weeping laid up For Jehovah And his servants, which burn Night and day And vomit out The heads of scorpions And live sulphur Mingled with poison These are the thunders that roar With a hundred mighty earthquakes And a thousands times As many surges Which rest not nor know Any echoing time Here and rock Bringeth forth a thousands Even as the heart Of man does his thoughts Woe! woe! woe! woe! woe! woe! yea woe! Be to he who sits on The holy throne in heaven For his iniquity is Was and shall be great Come away! but not your mighty sounds!