The Lion

It burns bright, 

In the forests of the night,

With immortal hand and eyes.

It sleeps and rests until its hunger is pleased,

It hunts to fulfill its wrath,

It eats to subdue its anger,

He does all this and yet he is the king of the jungle. 

And the shoulders which Could twist the sinner's heart? 

And when thy heart began to beat, 

What dread hand and what dread feet?