English and Indian both Observe
The various blasts of wind:
And both I have heard in dreadfull stormes
Cry out aloud, I have sinn’d.
But when the stormes are turn’d to calmes
And seas grow smooth and still;
Both turne (like swine) to wallow in,
The filth of former will.
’Tis not a storme on sea, or shore,
’Tis not the Word that can;