R. Our King is swift and ready to

receive the blood of innocents.

So sing the angels and with praise resound.

R. But yet—the clouds

this blood

bewail.

V. That tyrant still

was choked by death’s oppressive sleep

in punishment of his grave wickedness.

R. But yet—the clouds

this blood

bewail.

Glory be to the Father and to the Son

and to the Holy Spirit.

R. But yet—the clouds

this blood

bewail.