English poem
April, 1861
by Henry Howard Brownell (1820–1872)
World, art thou 'ware of a storm? Hark to the ominous sound; How the far-off gales their battle form, And the great sea-swells feel ground!
It comes, the Typhoon of Death— Nearer and nearer it comes! The horizon thunder of cannon-breath And the roar of angry drums!
Hurtle, Terror sublime! Swoop o'er the Land to-day— So the mist of wrong and crime, The breath of our Evil Time Be swept, as by fire, away!