Storm

I looked into the night and saw God writing with tumultuous flame Upon the thunder’s front of awe,-- As on sonorous brass,--the Law, Terrific, of His judgment name.

Weary of all life’s best and worst, With hands of hate, I--who had pled, I, who had prayed for death at first And had not died--now stood and cursed God, yet He would not strike me dead.