 | The Vale of Arden and Other Poems |  |
62
A STORM SONG
Chasten the land, O wind;
Hurl autumn from his throne;
Be pitiless, be blind,
And let the forest groan;
The forest's quickened life
Will bless thee yet; for thou
Art God's keen pruning-knife
That lops each withered bough.
Hurl autumn from his throne;
Be pitiless, be blind,
And let the forest groan;
The forest's quickened life
Will bless thee yet; for thou
Art God's keen pruning-knife
That lops each withered bough.
Chasten the land, O war;
Consume the false and frail
With fire of thy red star,
And let the nation wail;
Redeemed by sore distress
From rottenness of soul,
'Twill live some day to bless
The storm that made it whole.
Consume the false and frail
With fire of thy red star,
And let the nation wail;
Redeemed by sore distress
From rottenness of soul,
'Twill live some day to bless
The storm that made it whole.
| The Vale of Arden and Other Poems | |