THE STORM

Hark! hark! hark! Hark to the thunder’s roar, Hark how the maddened waves Burst on the rock-girt shore! Lashed by the furious winds, Their foaming crests they rear, Rush on with mighty bound, Start back in shuddering fear. Hark to the rattling hail! Hark to the driving rain! The heavens, a blaze of light, Throb as in quiv’ring pain; All Nature seems to work, Unchecked, its own wild will, While man looks on in awe, And bird and beast are still. God on the whirlwind rides, The storm is ’neath His feet, He holds in His right hand The winds, His coursers fleet; They bear creation’s Lord In triumph on His way, And in their maddest race His slightest check obey. The lightning is His glance, His breath upheaves the sea, The thunder His dread voice Of awful majesty; In Nature’s seeming war Its Maker walks abroad, And all its mighty powers Are servants of our God.