Before their altar of the cloud,
While all his minstrel-tempests came
Around the shrine, in terror bowed,—
I’ve smiled with other smile than this,
For then, I, leaping from the sod,
Saw, in their rude but meaning bliss,
The wondrous glory of a God:—
Yes! e’en when others quailed to see
The red volcano light our clime,
I’ve joyed, for in its ministry