XLII

His voice in all her music, from the moan

      Of thunder, to the song of night's sweet bird;

      He is a presence to be felt and known

      In darkness and in light, from herb and stone,

      Spreading itself where'er that Power may move

      Which has withdrawn his being to its own;

      Which wields the world with never-wearied love,

Sustains it from beneath, and kindles it above.