Nought but profoundest hell can be his shroud; In vain with timbrell'd anthems dark The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipt ark. He feels from Juda's land The dreaded Infant's hand, |
Nought but profoundest hell can be his shroud; In vain with timbrell'd anthems dark The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipt ark. He feels from Juda's land The dreaded Infant's hand, |