—O'er trampled hills, and on the blood-stain'd plains
There is no low of kine, or bleat of flocks,
The fields are rifled, and the shepherds slain.
The Man of Uz, who stood but yestermorn
Above all compeers,—clothed with wealth and power,
To day is poorer than his humblest hind.
A whirlwind from the desert!
All unwarn'd
Its fury came. Earth like a vassal shook.
Majestic trees flew hurtling through the air