Thomas Wells

YE clouds, that in your breasts the tempest bear,

From whose dark folds the nimble lightnings leap;

Tell us, as through the vault of blue ye sweep,

Whence came ye, rolling in your strength, and where

Shadowing the heavens, do you now bend your course?

Shipwreck attends, dread messengers, your path—

The giant forests stoop before your wrath,

And Ocean bends his trident to your force:

Already now your winged bolts of fire

The skies inflame—your pealing thunders roll,

And seem the earth to shake, from pole to pole,

Whilst hail and whirlwind mingle with your ire?

Mortal!—seek not the Eternal to explore,—

We come his errands to fulfil—be silent and adore.