C.M.
1
Poor sinners! little do they think
With whom they have to do!
But stand securely on the brink
Of everlasting woe.
2
Belshazzar thus, profanely bold,
The Lord of hosts defied;
But vengeance soon his boasts controlled.
And humbled all his pride.
3
He saw a hand upon the wall,
(And trembled on his throne)
Which wrote his sudden dreadful fall
In characters unknown.
4
Why should he tremble at the view
Of what he could not read?
Foreboding conscience quickly knew
His ruin was decreed.
5
See him o’erwhelmed with deep distress!
His eyes with anguish roll;
His looks and loosened joints express
The terrors of his soul.
6
His pomp and music, guests and wine,
No more delight afford,
“O never may this case be mine,
Have mercy on me, Lord.”
