by John Newton

“ Poor sinners! little do they think With whom they have to do! But stand securely on the brink Of everlasting woe. Belshazzar thus, profanely bold, The Lord of hosts defied; But vengeance soon his boasts controlled, And humbled all his pride. He saw a hand upon the wall (And trembled on his throne) Which wrote his sudden dreadful fall In characters unknown. Why should he tremble at the view Of what he could not read? Foreboding conscience quickly knew His ruin was decreed. ”