What mighty Man, or mighty God,
Comes traveling 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 inquire,
Why thine Apparel's red?
And all thy Vesture stain'd like those
Who in the Wine-press tread?"

4 I by my self 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 Edoms 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."