Winging the turbid whirlwind's frantic haste,
Pointing the levin's arrowy effluence,
Over the mildewed harvest's hungry waste,
Breathing the fetid breath of pestilence,
And crying havoc to the dogs of war,
Let slip on unresisting innocence?
Why suffereth He that thus a rival mar
His cherished work--through devastated fields
Borne on triumphant in ensanguined car?--
Him, who with power to rescue, tamely yields
His helpless charge to persecuting hate,
Nor His own offspring from the torturer shields,
But sits aloof, callously obdurate,
While but the will is lacking to redeem,--
Him, how shall fitting stigma designate?

'But 'tis not thus thy calmer doubts esteem
The loving-kindness that with open hand
Dispenses bounty in perennial stream.
Oft hast thou proved, while in a foreign land
A sojourner, as all thy fathers were,
Thou pacest painfully the barren sand,
How o'er thy path watches a Comforter,
And scatters manna daily for thy food,
And bids the smitten rocks that barrier
The arid track, well out with gurgling flood,
And oft to shade of green oasis leads,
And, from pursuer thirsting for thy blood,
Such scanty shelter as is thine provides:
And though full oft that shelter fails, and though
Its torn defence demoniac glee derides,
Yet not for this the cheerful faith forego,
That memory of uncounted benefits
And conscious instinct's still, small tones bestow.
Charge not thy God with aught that unbefits
Tenderest compassion, nor believe that He
With hardened apathetic scorn commits
A favoured people throughout life to be
Subject to bondage. Doubt not of His will
To rescue from that galling tyranny.
Yet, if in His despite creation still
In thraldom groan and travail--what remains?
What but that strength is wanting to fulfil
His scheme of mercy? What but that He reigns,
Not as sole wielder of omnipotence,
But, o'er a world unconquered yet, maintains
Encounter with opposing influence,
Which He shall surely quell, but which can stay,
Awhile unquelled, His mightier providence.

'And doth this sadden only, or dismay?
Grieves it that He, whose follower thou art,
Rules not supreme with unresisted sway?
Or that, the progress of His grace to thwart,
Satanic might the host of hell arrays?
And doth it not a thrill of joy impart
That not alo