1 What mighty man, or mighty God,
Comes travelling in state,
Along the Idumean road,
Away from Bozrah's gate?
2 The glory of his robes proclaim
'Tis some victorious king:
|'Tis I, the just, th' Almighty One,
|That your salvation bring.|
3 |Why, mighty Lord,| thy saints enquire,
|Why thine apparel red?
|And all thy vesture stain'd like those
|Who in the wine-press tread?|
4 |I by myself have trod the press,
|And crush'd my foes alone,
|My wrath has struck the rebels dead,
|My fury stamp'd them down.
5 |'Tis Edom's blood that dyes my robes
|With joyful scarlet stains,
|The triumph that my raiment wears
|Sprung from their bleeding veins.
6 |Thus shall the nations be destroy'd
|That dare insult my saints,
|I have an arm t' avenge their wrongs,
|An ear for their complaints.|