Winds

Winds! winged ministers of the Mighty God!
     Potent to do His will—chainless and free,
     Sweeping in conscious pride o’er earth and sea,
Where is the hiding of your power? Abroad
Ye rush on sounding pinions, and the tall
     Magnificence of temples totters down
     Before your path, as stricken by the frown
Of the AVENGER! O’er the sky, a pall
     Of gloomy clouds ye hang—or dash to dust
     The high-piled monuments of man’s vain trust,
O’erwhelming cot and palace, tent and tower.
Ye Winds! where is the hiding of your power?
     “God sent us forth to work his righteous will,
     And God alone can bid us, ‘Peace! be still!’”