Then flew unto me one of the seraphim, And in his hand, a live coal, - With tongs, had he taken it from off the altar.

Lo! they have become as straw - a fire, hath burned them up, They shall not deliver their own soul from the grasp of the flame, - There is, no live coal to warm them, nor blaze to sit before.

And he put on Righteousness as a coat of mail, And a helmet of victory upon his head, - And he put on the garments of avenging, for clothing, And wrapped about him as a cloak - jealousy,