Hath He, who shakes the mighty with a breath
From their high places, made the fearfulness,
And ever-wakeful presence of his power
To the pale startled earth most manifest,
But for the weak? Was’t for the helm’d and crown’d
That suns were stay’d at noonday?—stormy seas
As a rill parted?—mail’d archangels sent
To wither up the strength of kings with death?
—I tell you, if these marvels have been done,
’Twas for the wearied and th’ oppress’d of men.