The Storm

I see the use: and know my blood
Is not a sea,
But a shallow, bounded flood,
Though red as he ;
Yet have I flows, as strong as his,
And boiling streams that rave
With the same curling force, and hiss,
As doth the mountain’d wave.
But when his waters billow thus,
Dark storms, and wind
Incite them to that fierce discuss,
Else not inclin’d,
Thus the enlarg’d, enragèd air
Uncalms these to a flood ;
But still the weather that’s most fair
Breeds tempests in my blood.
Lord, then round me with weeping clouds,
And let my mind
In quick blasts sigh beneath those shrouds,
A spirit—wind ;
So shall that storm purge this recluse
Which sinful ease made foul,
And wind and water to Thy use
Both wash and wing my soul.
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