Prophet of God, arise and take
With thee the words of wrath divine,
  The scourge of Heaven, to shake
  O'er yon apostate shrine.

Where Angels down the lucid stair
Came hovering to our sainted sires
  Now, in the twilight, glare
  The heathen's wizard fires.

Go, with thy voice the altar rend,
Scatter the ashes, be the arm,
  That idols would befriend,
  Shrunk at thy withering charm.

Then turn thee, for thy time is short,
But trace not o'er the former way,
  Lest idol pleasures court
  Thy heedless soul astray.

Thou know'st how hard to hurry by,
Where on the lonely woodland road
  Beneath the moonlight sky
  The festal warblings flowed;

Where maidens to the Queen of Heaven
Wove the gay dance round oak or palm,
  Or breathed their vows at even
  In hymns as soft as balm.

Or thee, perchance, a darker spell
Enthralls: the smooth stones of the flood,
  By mountain grot or fell,
  Pollute with infant's blood;

The giant altar on the rock,
The cavern whence the timbrel's call
  Affrights the wandering flock:-
  Thou long'st to search them all.

Trust not the dangerous path again -
O forward step and lingering will!