And spreads a common feast for all that live.
In Winter awful Thou! with clouds and storms
Around Thee thrown, tempest o’er tempest rolled,
Majestic darkness! on the whirlwind’s wing,
Riding sublime, Thou bid’st the world adore,
And humblest nature with Thy northern blast.
Thomson.
Truth bids me look on men as Autumn leaves;
And all they bleed for, as the Summer’s dust,
Driven by the whirlwind.