'Mid its thunders he told him his reasoning was vain,
Till he bowed to correction, and kiss'd the just rod.
"When call'd by the voice of the prophet of old,
In the 'valley of bones,' to breathe over the dead;
Like the sands of the sea, could their number be told,
They started to life when the mandate had sped.
"Those chill mouldering ashes thy summons could bind,
And the dark icy slumbers of ages gave way;
The spirit of life took the wings of the wind,
Rekindling the souls of the children of clay.