5
Whose watchful eye observes thy secret ways?
Who writes the record of thy fleeting days?
Ask of the stream that rolls in torrents by;
Ask of the stars that light the darken'd sky;
Or of the fields array'd in garments fair;
Or of the birds that warble on the air;
Or of the mountain lilies wet with dew;
Or of the brutes, and they will tell thee who.
Then lift thine eye to that unsullied throne,
And raise thy heart to Him thy God alone.
THE STORM AT MIDNIGHT.
ROVING spirit—rushing blast,
Whither dost thou speed so fast?
Hurling from night's ebon car,
The spear of elemental war?
Cams't thou from the secret cell,
Where the prison'd whirlwinds dwell?
Hast thou seen the awful court,
Where the armed thunders sport?
Where the deafning tempest sings,
Where the lightning whets its stings?
