Books and other items printed in Gaelic from 1801 to 1840 > Poems in English, Scotch, and Gaelic, on various subjects

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If left alone, thy conq'ring power is small,
If God's thy foe, thy splendour sure must fall.
Perhaps some latent vice pollutes thy clime,
Some guilt unwash'd, some God-offending crime;
Like ancient Salem, once Jehovah's care,
Her land was fruitful, and her temple fair;
In war, bright angels watch'd, and led the van,
And God above had deign'd to dwell with man.
But vice deep rooted, spread both far and near,
And rose, and swell'd, and ripen'd year by year.
Till vengeance threat'ned long, and long confin'd.
Swept Salem's seat, nor left a trace behind.
Ye Watchmen, highly plac'd on Sion Hill,
Sound the alarming trumpet, loud and shrill;
Like rending thunder, lift your voice on high,
Make mountains shake, and pierce the concave sky;
And as ye blow alternate, speak, and tell
Britannia's Sons, how ancient Salem fell.