I sweep by with a voice of wrath;
In a fleecy cloud I wrap my train,
As I tread my iron path.
My bowels are fire, and my arm is steel,
My breath is a rolling cloud:
And my voice peels out as I onward wheel,
Like the thunder rolling loud.
All day, all day, do my sinews play,
When the sun’s bright rays are cast;
At the midnight hour I fly on my way,