O Visions Ill Foreseen! Better Had I

And Add To These Retired Leisure, That In Trim Gardens Take His Pleasure.

And, When Night Darkens The Streets, Then Wander Forth The Sons Of Belial, Flown With Insolence And Wine.

It Is Chastity, My Brother. She That Has That Is Clad In Complete Steel.

Justice Divine Mends Not Her Slowest Pace For Prayers Or Cries.

Avenge, O Lord, Thy Slaughtered Saints, Whose Bones Lie Scattered On The Alpine Mountains Cold; Ev'n Them Who Kept Thy Truth So Pure Of Old When All Our Fathers Worshipped Stocks And Stones Forget Not.