What if the harmony of saints and sinners /
Broke in moments o’er passing of bread? /
Temporal and shallow, this generation envisage /
Martyrdom, not white but red /

The clamor of thousands, scurrying in fear /
The horsemen’s cruelty made known /
For all the years of fatness and pleasure /
Turn to ashes; the glory of Rome /

Echoing the past, foreseeing the future/
The end of all things is at hand /
Still the Father is good, sparing us fault /
Sending pain to rain down on the land /

Bleak, they call it, a travesty of grace /
If Benevolence exists, why trial? /
Yet dross it removes, and gold it refines /
Sifting those who are Christ’s from Belial’s /