Chorus of Angels. Rafael

Chorus:

O Father, who no incense, gold, Or hymnal praise dost dearer hold Than the tranquil trust and soul-reposing Calmness of him who humbly heeds Thy word, and where Thy spirit leads Doth leave himself in Thy disposing: Thou seest. O Author of us all, Our Spirit-Chief his banners tall 'Gainst Thee so wickedly unfurling; And how, 'mid roar of trump and drum, On battle-chariot he doth come, So blind, and fierce defiance hurling! Ah! heed not their wild blasphemy, And save from endless misery The thousand thousand ones deluded, Who, weak, and woefully misled By their proud and rebellious head, Are 'mong his legions now included.

Rafael:

Spare in Thy mercy, spare, ah! spare The Stadtholder, who now would wear Thy crown of crowns, who, deifying Himself, would triumph over all: From such foul stain, oh! where else shall The cleansing come, him purifying?

Chorus:

Oh! suffer not that soul to die. The fairest e'er seen by Thine eye Oh I keep the Archangel e'er in Heaven; Let him atone this impious deed. And still retain his rank, we plead Let not his guilt be unforgiven.