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Hark, I hear upon the storm
Thousand, thousand devils fly,
Who with awful howlings cry:
Now's the time and now's the hour,
We have licence, we have power
To obtain a glorious prey. -
I with horror turn away;
Tumbles house and tumbles wall;
Thousands lose their lives and all,
Voiding curses, screams and groans,
For the beams, the bricks and stones
Bruise and bury all below -
Nor is that the worst, I trow,
For the clouds begin to pour
Floods of water more and more,
Down upon the world with might,
Never pausing day or night.
Now in terrible distress
All to God their cries address,
And his Mother dear adore, -
But the time of grace is o'er,
For the Almighty in the sky
Holds his hand upraised on high.
Now's the time of madden'd rout,
Hideous cry, despairing shout;
Whither, whither shall they fly?
For the danger threat'ningly
Draweth near on every side,
And the earth, that's opening wide,
Swallows thousands in its womb,
Who would 'scape the dreadful doom.
Of dear hope exists no gleam,
Still the water down doth stream;
Ne'er so little a creeping thing
But from out its hold doth spring:
See the mouse, and see its mate
Scour along, nor stop, nor wait;
See the serpent and the snake
For the nearest highlands make;
The tarantula I view,
Emmet small and cricket too,
All unknowing where to fly,
In the stifling waters die.
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