ORIGINAL POETRY. STRIFE AND PEACE.
Who holds the bridle of the storm?— It is a strong, a red right hand, It is a veiled, and awful form, It is a word of high command. Well may the red, right hand be strong, The veiled form be awful known, Which claims above the starry throng O'er countless worlds, a cloud girt throne. Let but the grasp be loosed— the rein Below the neck one moment play, St ting;— that steed will shake his mane lliiua ' the storm is on his way. Then flaming meteors sweep the sky, Loud thunder pealing rolls along, Ho," ely tiMil'ic whirlwinds cit — All blending in one Mighty Song. There is a beaming in the west. There is a hush, a silence deep; With radiant crown, with golden vest, The sun shakes off his noonday sleep. A fragrance, as of Eden's flowers, Fresh glitt'ring rain drons round their shed, From heaven, -Hi i earth's remotest bowers The fury of the storm is fled. Who stills the fury of the storm?— It is a breathing from above, It is a mild, and beauteous form, It is a word— a look of Love. St. George. Auckland, Sept. 5th 1851.
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New Zealander, Volume 7, Issue 569, 27 September 1851, Page 4
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200ORIGINAL POETRY. STRIFE AND PEACE. New Zealander, Volume 7, Issue 569, 27 September 1851, Page 4
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