The storm has
passed; the earth is cold|
And death has come to young and old.
Its fury will not spare the babe,
From its revenge, who can escape?
Now destitue the earth shall be
A harvest lost, a fallen tree
I see the rivers vomit blood,
Of countless bodies in the flood,
The gnawing hand of death has come,
But suddenly, for throngs, and some,
Shall slowly fade before they die,
As life before them passes by,
These cries of agony shall grow
O'er scatterred bones, the wind shall blow.