Were I a straw, His whirlwind is the force that drives.
A breath from God alone has power to move my soul.
My love for God’s the motive o’er me has control.80
Their anger rules e’en kings. My anger is my slave.
My wrath I’ve bridled;—bitted;—leave, it aye must crave.
My anger’s stifled by reflection’s strong embrace.
God’s wrath to me’s a message of His pardoning grace.
My roof’s a ruin, true; but light pours through the rent.
I’m dust. But from my soil flowers blow, and yield sweet scent.
“Just cause if I perceive, with foes when waging war,