The Kishineff Massacre

O LORD, Thy righteous wrath and vengeance pour

Upon the bloody horde, who in Thy name,

The sacred name, hath stained with crimson gore

The Russian land and filled Thy earth with shame.

Let fall upon their heads the bolts of flame

To teach the vile oppressor, yet once more

A living God doth rule the nations o’er—

A God of strength and might whose hand can tame

Their hireling hearts and teach their hate restraint.

Avenge Thy slaughtered sons, O Lord supreme!

Their blood doth cry from rock and vale and height;

And Thou, to whom the sparrow’s piping plaint

Is poignant as the eagle’s piercing scream,

Will not be deaf, but with Thy thunder smite.