From Harps Unhung:
Name of the Lord, a sword, Israel wields;
Zion–fortress, celestial brigade.
His armory walls display dented shields,
stripped from mighty generals who he slayed.
Warriors–valiant, pose behind glass,
menagerie in museum of wax.
Sonic booms of wrath, dark sound waves that pass,
falling on deaf ears like a wielded ax.
Let all the Earth be silent–turn your backs
on sacrifice that conjured holy rage,
that filled God’s nostrils with nidorous stench,
that unleased hounds of heaven, now uncaged,
and caused Judge of all to rise from his bench.
Who of us can stand ‘neath your pure fury?
When your gavel crashes down on its block,
who will stand righteous before your jury?
God will receive gifts of fear from his flock;
name of the Lord, a sword, Israel’s Rock.