MOUNTAINS and vales, how ye quake 'neath His tread— Wake from your slumbers, He calls, O ye dead! Tremble, great trees, bowing down 'neath His breath; Lay by thy scythe, at His bidding, King Death! The sun in the heavens grows pale at His wrath, And the stars, at a glance, disappear from their path. God, at Thy feet, then, awe-stricken we fall— Lord of the universe, Maker of all! Earth's secret treasures lie bare to Thy sight, Nor hidden from Thee the dark deeds of the night; The lion grows timid, fawns low at Thy feet; The waves from the shore at Thy bidding retreat. Thou speakest—the monarch's proud ruling is o'er; His power and his riches avail him no more, Endless Thy greatness—of Thee are all things; Endless Thy glory, O King of all Kings! When mountains belched forth their red flames to the sky, And Heaven's forked tongues thundered back in reply; When the sun, in his horror, recoiled at the sight, And earth hid her brow in the darkness of night; When stars into dust fell, and vanished in space, And but man, in his blindness, laughed up in Thy face— Endless Thy mercy, Thy strong hand was still— O Crucified Lord upon Calvary's hill! Yet, Thou forgettest all, Father above, Remembering nought but Thine infinite love: Stretching those wounded Hands out to our aid; Telling us tenderly, "Be not afraid!" Ready to help us, if only we call— Nothing too weak for Thee, nothing too small; Ready to hear, when we kneel on the sod; Thou our Redeemer, our Father, our God! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A BIRTHDAY by LOUIS UNTERMEYER SAILING BEYOND SEAS (OLD STYLE) by JEAN INGELOW |