Blow the trumpet, sound the doom,
Let the awful clangours boom
Through high heaven and earth below,
Through the gloomy realms of woe;
Through the caverns of the dead
Let the thunder tones be sped;
Million voices, loud replying,
Shout, the Papacy is dying!
Hark! in heaven the martyr throng,
Crying, Lord, how long, how long,
Till our blood avenged shall be,
Till the earth Thy judgments see?
Wait ye for a little space,
Some who yet on earth have place,
Brother martyrs yet shall be,
Vengeance full ye then shall see,
Vengeance full on Papal Rome,
Vengeance coming, soon to come!
Lo! the herald angel stands,
Poising in his mighty hands
A millstone, emblem of her doom;-
Loud the wrathful thunders boom,
At the mighty angel's call:
Thus shall Rome for ever fall,
As this mighty stone is thrown
Into ocean depths unknown;
Fallen, sunk, for evermore,
In a sea without a shore.
Hark! in heaven a cry again
From the souls of martyr'd slain:
Now the doom of Rome is fixed,
Now the draught of vengeance mixed,
Brimm'd the bitter, burning cup,
She shall surely drink it up.
Loud responding to the skies
Joyful shouts from earth arise;
Now is come salvation, strength,
And the weight of blood at length-
Blood of saints and martyrs blest-
Loads no more her groaning breast;
From the loathed incubus free,
Joins in Heaven's high jubilee.
From abodes of endless woe,
Swift as lightning currents flow,
Rolls the knell of Papal Rome.
Ah! they cry, Art thou become
Like to us? We greet thee well,
Like to us thou here shalt dwell,
Sunk for aye beneath the load
Of martyr-blood-the doom'd of God.
From your bloody graves awake,
Ye who have for conscience sake
Shed your blood, and spent your breath,
Loved your lives not to the death!
Hear, ye sleepers in the dust!
God, the Avenger, true and just,
Now for blood makes inquisition;
Full and stern the requisition
He will make on bloody Rome.
Strike her knell!-her hour is come!
Sound again the trump of doom
Through the dread and solemn gloom;
Hear again the angel's call,
Rome is doomed-behold her fall!