Lo! his breast
Convulsive heaves—and his wild fiery glance
Is quenched in tears! ’tis time to speed thy work.
David.
Oh Thou! who uncreate, unseen, unknown,
O’er all creation sit’st in sovereignty—
By whose dread fiat and whose power alone
This spirit lives, that dares to mount to Thee!—
Whose searching glance hell’s dark abysses own,
And yield to light their depths of mystery—