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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 jehova

And his servats, 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 hundered 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!