Classic Poem

Poor France, the scene of antichristian rage,
Th' amazing horror of the trembling age:
The nations stand around with wondring eyes,
As if t' attend thy fatal exequies.
The world's amaz'd to see thy glory fade;
And set in blood behind the western shade.
He who thy nursing father ought to be
Becomes thy foe, and aims his rage at thee.
Tho out of human reach, just heaven will shew
What wonders a divine revenge can do:
Avenging heaven will find a day to quell
The tyrants rage, and send his guilty soul to hell.