Oh, perch of the power of god
will the rage that you’d do.
Oh! Master of the divine furore…
Oh Warner of the evils aboard.
Oh, life of the putrid plenty,
rotten by the smell of the serpent scent.
Oh breath that plumped the plenty
On lord- to prove god’s testament…
Oh, kinder of the gusty gale,
killer of the strings the hang venomed.
Oh! One that rosed the dying pale,
On fell of the string that hung benumbed.
Oh will of the mould, moulding all
Oh revolver of this blasphemous ball
Oh one that rolled the darkest fall
Oh one that blows me to his call.
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