That's why God flamed out in anger against his people, reached out and knocked them down. The mountains trembled as their dead bodies piled up in the streets. But even after that, he was still angry, his fist still raised, ready to hit them again.
He raises a flag, signaling a distant nation, whistles for people at the ends of the earth. And here they come - on the run!
None drag their feet, no one stumbles, no one sleeps or dawdles. Shirts are on and pants buckled, every boot is spit-polished and tied.
Their arrows are sharp, bows strung, The hooves of their horses shod, chariot wheels greased.
Roaring like a pride of lions, the full-throated roars of young lions, They growl and seize their prey, dragging it off - no rescue for that one!
They'll roar and roar and roar on that Day, like the roar of ocean billows. Look as long and hard as you like at that land, you'll see nothing but darkness and trouble. Every light in the sky will be blacked out by the clouds. Holy, Holy, Holy!