WRITTEN AT THE DELAWARE WATER GAP.

Great and omnipotent that Power must be, That wings the whirlwind and directs the storm, That, by a strong convulsion, severed thee, And wrought this wondrous chasm in thy form. Man is a dweller, where, in some past day, Thy rock-ribbed frame majestically rose; The river rushes on its new-made way, And all is life where all was once repose. Pleased, as I gazed upon thy lofty brow Where Nature seems her loveliest robes to wear, I felt that Pride at such a scene must bow, And own its insignificancy there. Oh Thou, to whom directing worlds is play, Thy condescension without bounds must be, If man, the frail ephemera of a day, Be graciously regarded still by Thee. Here, as I ponder on Thy mighty deeds, And marvel at Thy bounteousness to me, While wrapt in solemn awe, my bosom bleeds, Lest recklessly I may have wounded Thee,— Wounded that Being who is fain to call The heavy-laden and the wearied home; The dear Redeemer! He who died that all Might to his glorious in-gathering come.