Page:The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter.djvu/235



and vales, how ye quake 'neath His tread— Wake from your slumbers, He calls, O ye dead! Tremble, great trees, bowing down 'neath His breath; Lay by thy scythe, at His bidding. King Death! The sun in the heavens grows pale at His wrath, And the stars, at a glance, disappear from their path. God, at Thy feet, then, awe-stricken we fall— Lord of the universe. Maker of all!

Earth's secret treasures lie bare to Thy sight, Nor hidden from Thee the dark deeds of the night; The lion grows timid, fawns low at Thy feet; The waves from the shore at Thy bidding retreat. Thou speakest—the monarch's proud ruling is o'er; His power and his riches avail him no more, Endless Thy greatness — of Thee are all things; Endless Thy glory, O King of all Kings!

When mountains belched forth their red flames to the sky, And Heaven's forked tongues thundered back in reply; When the sun, in his horror, recoiled at the sight. And earth hid her brow in the darkness of night; When stars into dust fell, and vanished in space, And but man, in his blindness, laughed up in Thy face— Endless Thy mercy, Thy strong hand was still— O Crucified Lord upon Calvary's hill!