Now, on, my steeds; the lightning's flash
An instant gilds our way;
But steady! by that fearful crash
The heavens seem rent away.
Soho, here comes the blast anew,
And a pelting flood of rain;
Steady! a sea seems bursting through
A rift in some upper main.
'Tis a terrible night, a dreary hour,
But who will remember to pray
That the care of the storm-controlling power
Be over the post-boy's way?
The wayward wanderer from his home,
The sailor upon the sea,
Have prayers to bless them where they roam—
Who thinketh to pray for me?
The storm has passed. Up swims the moon
Like a stately ship at sea;
Now on, my steeds! this brilliant noon
Of a night so black shall be
A scene for us. Toss high your heads,
And merrily speed away,
We shall startle the sleepers in their beds
Before the dawn of day.
9
