  HOW splendid is the righteous wrath Born in a good man’s soul! Ignoble things fly from his path, Loud thunders round him roll,— Yet tenderness and love he hath. Like some gigantic forest fire, His mighty anger sweeps; An eager flame of awful ire, At every wrong it leaps,— Still, lasting peace he doth desire. Then, swift as flies the meteor’s spark, His anger disappears; Born for the hour it met its mark,— He sootheth now love’s fears, While wrong sits trembling in the dark! |
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