O SAD is my heart for the storm that is coming ;
Like eagles the scud sweepeth in from the sea ;
The gull seeketh shelter, the pine trees are sighing,
And all giveth note of the tempest to be.
A spell hath been whispered from cave and from ocean,
The shepherds are sleeping, the sentinels dumb,
The flocks are all scattered on moorland and mountain,
And no one believes that the Master is come.

He's come, but whom doth He find their watch keeping ?
O where - in His presence - is faith the world o'er ?
The rich, every sense in soft luxury steeping ;
The poor, scarce repelling the wolf from the door.
O man, and O maiden, drop trifling and pleasure,
O! hark, while I tell of the sorrows to be, -
As well might I plead in the path of yon glacier,
Or cry out a warning to wave of the sea !