Cloth'd with a cloud an angel-form I see; A beaming rainbow decks his glorious brow; Like dazzling noon-tide sun his features glow; One blazing foot is planted in the sea, The other on the earth, like burning tree; He cried aloud, as lion, roaring slow; Seven angry thunders mutter'd their echo; His red right arm he lifted high and free; Then with an oath, that shook heav'ns mighty arch, He sware by Him, that made the sea and earth, And scattered far abroad the worlds of light,―― Whose years proceed in never-ending march, That Time, which ow'd to his decree its birth, Should cease fore'er to wing its rapid flight. 42. WRITTEN IN A THUNDER-STORM. In that loud voice, that shakes the earth and skies, The ancient pagan heard Jove's angry tone, Speaking to mortals from the clouds, his throne; In that keen light, which rapid bursts and flies, And darts to earth, and dazzles mortal eyes, The pagan saw Jove's vengeful jav'lin thrown, To check man's pride, and cast presumption down, And vindicate the god as strong and wise. But now, since Franklin drew a spark from cloud, And prov'd it merely electricity,―― Though, God! thou speak in thunders e'er so loud, Our empty science makes us deaf to Thee; And though thy lightnings glare, yet we are proud, And blind to Thy most glorious majesty! 43. IMPIETY. The pagan pays his worship to a block, Or lifts his homage to the glorious sun, Who, like a giant, in his race doth run;―― Such folly well our thinking sense may shock. But what if Christian nam'd his God should mock, Or wrapp'd in web, by atheist's fingers spun, All nature's brightness seem obscure and dun, Not deem'd His work, who guides the starry flock? Is there not here a guilt of deeper dye, A mind less cheer'd by rays of truth divine, A heart more cold, enchain'd by Greenland frost? Ah! can the wretch e'er dwell in purest sky, Where God's perfections all in glory shine? Is he not blinded, cheated, wilder'd, lost? 44. ON THE DEATH OF MY DAUGHTER. Poor man, who name of Father dost not know, Nor e'er hast felt that bond of sweetest might, Which binds thee to thy child; on whose glad sight That fairest image on the earth below,―― In beauty like heav'n's various-tinted bow,―― Her Mother's picture, lovely daughter bright Ne'er shone;――thou hast not seen joy's earthly height!―― All this I've seen, and lost to my huge woe! And yet I do not need thy pity, friend; For though the flow'r of seventeen summers' bloom Was smitten, still it blossoms without end In garden, where ne'er falls a blighting doom. A ransom'd sinner did my Daughter die, In Christian hope, with glory in her eye! 45. THE LAST DAY OF THE YEAR.