Page:Poems and ballads (IA balladspoems00swinrich).pdf/191

 O stout north‑easter, Sea‑king, land‑waster, For all thine haste, or Thy stormy skill, Yet hadst thou never, For all endeavour, Strength to dissever Or strength to spill, Save of his giving Who gave our living, Whose hands are weaving What ours fulfil; Whose feet tread under The storms and thunder; Who made our wonder to work his will.

His years and hours, His world's blind powers,