The Hurricane

Lo, Lord, Thou ridest! Lord, Lord, Thy swifting heart Nought stayeth, nought now bideth But's smithereened apart! Ay! Scripture flee'th stone! Milk-bright, Thy chisel wind Rescindeth flesh from bone To quivering whittlings thinned— Swept, whistling straw! Battered, Lord, e'en boulders now outleap Rock sockets, levin-lathered! Nor, Lord, may worm outdeep Thy drum's gambade, its plunge abscond! Lord God, while summits crashing Whip sea-kelp screaming on blond Sky-seethe, dense heaven dashing— Thou ridest to the door, Lord! Thou bidest wall nor floor, Lord!