Classic Poem

When mighty tempests charg'd on high,
With murm'ring thunder roll,
The dreadful noise along the sky
Affright my trembling soul.

A noise that makes pale atheists pant,
And quake with panic fear;
A noise that makes the humble saint
His mighty God revere.

Hear, and attentively regard
This high majestic voice,
Which, breaking from its prison-ward,
Spreads with an awful noise.

With this tremendous lofty sound,
Which heav'n's high arches shakes,
And through the airy regions round
Its stately progress makes.

God still to earth's remotest ends,
Beneath the heav'n's whole,
His red-wing'd lightning swiftly sends
On flight from pole to pole.

For first 'tis in the heav'ns above
The flashy flames appear;
Then dreadful bellowing strangely move
And terrify the ear.

The noisy roarings still augment,
Till storms of rain and hail,
Soon with their violent fierce descent,
The passive earth assail.

He that his mighty thunder-claps,
With wisdom thus projects,
Produces other fearful haps,
And wonderful effects.

This even the greatest wits befools,
And forces them to own,
With minds abash'd, that to the schools
These secrets are unknown.