Lord, not Thy work, the World's calamities,

But Man's. If Human Will revolt from Thine,

It flees Thy region, where the stars all shine

With longing to let down the Azure's Peace—

To dash its hosts from summits into seas,

Where Empires are the breakers. There the brine

Is anguish, and there Triumph leaves no sign,

Save wreck on rock, and Plague, adrift on breeze.

When Nations turn from Light, in thought, or life,

Their speed is brink-ward, save Thy Mercy stay;

For all is precipice, except Thy way.

Help, Lord, for here is heightening surge of strife;

Here, clouds turn floods, coasts are wind-whirled, like spray,

And lightenings, hurling back thy light, are rife.