The stubbornest is docile when His will curbs whim.
The blind from birth, the leper, e’en the dead, arise,
Whole, sound, whene’er th’ Omnipotent “Come forth” but cries.
E’en non-existence, death of death, at His command,
Starts into life, compelled by His supreme demand.60
Recite, my friend: “Each day He’s busied with a work:”[335]
And know, He’s never idle, unemployed to lurk.
His smallest daily toil,—a work like pleasure still,—
Is to send forth three armies, bound to work His will.
One, from the loins of spheres the elements to stir;