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THE GIRL’S OWN PAPER

[Transcriber’s Note: This Table of Contents was not present in the original.]

THE STORM

By ESTHER WIGLESWORTH.

Hark! hark! hark!

Hark to the thunder’s roar,

Hark how the maddened waves

Burst on the rock-girt shore!

Lashed by the furious winds,

Their foaming crests they rear,

Rush on with mighty bound,

Start back in shuddering fear.

Hark to the rattling hail!

Hark to the driving rain!

The heavens, a blaze of light,

Throb as in quiv’ring pain;

All Nature seems to work,

Unchecked, its own wild will,

While man looks on in awe,

And bird and beast are still.

God on the whirlwind rides,

The storm is ’neath His feet,

He holds in His right hand

The winds, His coursers fleet;

They bear creation’s Lord

In triumph on His way,

And in their maddest race

His slightest check obey.

The lightning is His glance,

His breath upheaves the sea,

The thunder His dread voice

Of awful majesty;

In Nature’s seeming war

Its Maker walks abroad,

And all its mighty powers

Are servants of our God.

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