 | American poems, selected and original |  |
263
HABAKKUK, Chap. III.
BY THE SAME.
The Lord of Hosts from Teman came,
From Paran's mount the Almighty God,—
The heavens his glory wide proclaim,
And bent the earth beneath his nod.
From Paran's mount the Almighty God,—
The heavens his glory wide proclaim,
And bent the earth beneath his nod.
As light his awful brightness show'd,—
There was the hiding of his power;
On burning coals Jehovah trode,
Dire mov'd the pestilence before.
There was the hiding of his power;
On burning coals Jehovah trode,
Dire mov'd the pestilence before.
He stood, and measur'd earth and air,
He look'd, apart the nations fled,
The eternal mountains scatter'd were,
And hills perpetual bow'd the head.
He look'd, apart the nations fled,
The eternal mountains scatter'd were,
And hills perpetual bow'd the head.
I saw when Midian's curtains shook,
I saw pale Cushan's tents in woe;
Say, did the streams thy wrath provoke?
Against them did thine anger glow?
I saw pale Cushan's tents in woe;
Say, did the streams thy wrath provoke?
Against them did thine anger glow?
Did e'er the deep his God displease,
That on thy horses thou did'st ride?
Thy path was thro' the troubled seas,
In heaps roll'd back the astonish'd tide.
That on thy horses thou did'st ride?
Thy path was thro' the troubled seas,
In heaps roll'd back the astonish'd tide.
The mountains saw, they trembling shook,
The o'erflowing waters passed by,
The mighty deep in horror spoke,
And lifted up his hands on high.
The o'erflowing waters passed by,
The mighty deep in horror spoke,
And lifted up his hands on high.
264
The rolling stars their courses stay'd,
The sun and moon stood still in fear;
Before thine arrows blaze they fled,
Before the lightning of thy spear.
The sun and moon stood still in fear;
Before thine arrows blaze they fled,
Before the lightning of thy spear.
With rivers did'st thou cleave the earth,
And naked made thy dreadful bow;
Thou march'd in indignation forth,
And laid in dust the heathen low:
And naked made thy dreadful bow;
Thou march'd in indignation forth,
And laid in dust the heathen low:
Thou wentest forth on Israel's side,
To save from death thy chosen race;
Thy sword has smote the heathen's pride,
And everlasting are thy ways.
To save from death thy chosen race;
Thy sword has smote the heathen's pride,
And everlasting are thy ways.
Altho' the fig-tree shall not shoot,
Nor grape the withering vine shall yield,
The olive shall withhold her fruit,
And blasted be the herbag'd field;
Nor grape the withering vine shall yield,
The olive shall withhold her fruit,
And blasted be the herbag'd field;
Tho' in the fold the flock shall die,
And in the stall no herd shall be,
Yet on the Lord will I rely,
Yet, O my God! will joy in thee.
And in the stall no herd shall be,
Yet on the Lord will I rely,
Yet, O my God! will joy in thee.
| American poems, selected and original | |