Upon a terrible Storm of Thunder, Wind, and
Rain, 25 July 1670, done by Night in the midst of it.
I.
Great God of Thunder, at whose Voice
The Earth and its Foundations shake,
And Man, whom Thou hast made its Lord, does quake,
Still the dreadful, and amazing Noise!
Lo! as Thy People Israel did of old,
By Fear surpriz'd, yet by our fear made bold,
Lord, lest we die, we beg Thou wouldst Thy Voice withhold!
II.
Yet speak, for (Lo!) Thy Servants hear!
And speak Thy self, but not in Smoak, and Flame!
The mighty Storm, that by the Tishbite came,
And rent the Hills, and did the Mountains tear,
The Tishbite saw unmov'd, knowing Thou wert not there.
At length was heard an awful sound,
Whispers and murmers undistinct around,
With silence waited on profound,
And a soft Voice, in which the Thunders shouts were drownd.
The Prophet listned, and inclin'd his Head,
Fill'd with sacred and unusual Dread;
His Face did in his Mantle hide;
For Thou in triumph on the peaceful sound didst ride,
And He, who brav'd the Thunder, bow'd and worshipped
III.
With such another Voice Divine,
Lord, speak to us, and we will hear!
Thy Thunder is too loud for our purg'd Ear,
And dreadfully Thy scorching Lightnings shine.
That voice of Fire, till the Great Day restrain,
Where to be slept out 't shall be strove in vain;
For, even the Dead by it awak'd, shall rise again.
