H. K. White


THE Lord our God is clothed with might,

The winds obey His will;

He speaks, and in His heavenly height

The rolling sun stands still.


Rebel, ye waves, and o’er the land

With threatening aspect roar;

The Lord uplifts His awful hand,

And chains you to the shore.


Ye winds of night, your force combine;

Without His high behest,

Ye shall not, in the mountain-pine,

Disturb the sparrow’s nest.


His voice sublime is heard afar;

In distant peals it dies;

He yokes the whirlwind to His car,

And sweeps the howling skies.


Ye sons of earth, in reverence bend;

Ye nations, wait His nod;

And let unceasing praise ascend

In honor of our God.


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