XVII. The sure Covenant.
For this is as the waters of Noah unto me; for as I have sworn
the waters shall no more go over the earth, so have I sworn
that I would not be wroth with thee.
Let the storms ply their deep and threat'ning bass,
The Bow of Promise shall the shades illume,
Brightly descried in Faith's eternal glass,
E'en like an Angel's many-coloured plume
Waving in tempest—pledge that in her bloom
Nature, emerging from the stormy mass,
Will keep her time and order.—Let them pass
The wicked and their plottings: 'mid the gloom,
The Church surveys her Covenant sign, and smiles.
And 'neath her solemn rainbow's dripping arch,
A mystic wing spread o'er her daring march,
She goes forth, on her heavenly work the whiles,
Though weeping, sure that one in joy shall bring,
Her and her sheaves at harvest-moon to sing.
