“How dreadful is this place!” for God is here!
His name is graven on th’ eternal rocks,
As with an iron pen and diamond’s point:
While their unceasing floods his voice proclaim,
Oft as their thunder shakes the distant hills.
O! if the forest-trees, which have grown old
In viewing all the wonders of this scene,
Do tremble still, and cast to earth their leaves—
Familiar as they are with things sublime—
Shall not the timid stranger here unloose
His sandals, ere he treads on “holy ground,”
And bow in humble worship to his God?
For unto such as do approach with awe
This bright creation of th’ Immortal Mind,
Methinks there comes, amid the deafening roar
Of “many waters,” yet “a still, small voice,”
Which saith, “Ye children of the dust, fear not—
Know that this God, this awful God, is _yours_!”
Yes, here have wrath and peace together met—
Justice and Mercy sweetly have embraced;
For, o’er the terrors of the angry floods,
The bow of promise and of beauty hangs:
When in the sunbeams, with its matchless hues,
Or as a silver arch on evening’s brow,
Saying, “God’s works are marvellous and great,
But ah! when understood, his name is Love.”
Cedar Brook, Plainfield, N. J.
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