“The thoughts are strange that crowd into my brain,
While I look upward to thee. It would seem
As if God poured thee from his ‘hollow hand,’
And hung his bow upon thine awful front;
And spoke in that loud voice, which seemed to him
Who dwelt in Patmos for his Saviour’s sake,
‘The sound of many waters;’ and had bade
Thy flood to chronicle the ages back,
And notch His centuries in the eternal rocks!
“Deep calleth unto deep, and what are we,