Page:Pocahontas and Other Poems (NY).pdf/83



of the chainless winds, that wildly wreck The moaning forest, and the ancient oak Rend like a sapling spray, and sweep the sand O'er the lost caravan, that trod, with pride Of tinkling bells, and camel's arching neck, The burning desert-a dense host at morn, At eve a bubble on the trackless waste— God of the winds! canst thou not rule the heart, And gather back its passions when thou wilt, Bidding them "Peace: be still!" God of the waves, That toss and mock the mightiest argosy, As the wild zephyr frets the thistle-down, Until the sternest leader's heart doth melt Because of trouble—Thou who call'st them back From their rough challenge to the muffled sky, And bidd'st them harmless lave an infant's feet That seeketh silver shells—canst Thou not curb The tumult of the nations, the hot wrath Of warring kings, who, like the babe, must die; Vaunting this day in armour, and the next, Unshrouded, slumbering on the battle-field? God of the unfathom'd, unresisted deep! We trust in Thee, and know in whom we trust.

—God of the solemn stars, that tread so true The path by thee appointed, every one,