And, ductile, owns the god whose arm presides.
The lightnings are thy ministers of ire;
The double-forked and ever-living fire;
In thy unconquerable hands they glow,
And at the flash all nature quakes below.
Thus, thunder-armed, thou dost creation draw
To one immense, inevitable law:
And, with the various mass of breathing souls,
Thy power is mingled, and thy spirit rolls.
Dread genius of creation! all things bow