Psalm of Clout
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Grand peaks melt
As the licking wax's tide
Before Thy glory –
Thee, who tread on the cobra,
Trampling grand lions of spears!
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Though thunder roars,
Thee cast the twilight rays South
Unto the sand dunes,
Arrows convulsing beneath
The whirlwind of Thy power!
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And the liquid quakes
Below Thy mighty footsteps,
Whilst the smoke rises
From Thy nostrils, blazing coals
Igniting Thy lips above –
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Thee soar upon gusts
And form canopies from clouds
Pregnant with fluid!
Hailstorms bow to Thee, their King,
The Bringer of dawns.
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And Thy Spirit sends
The Northern winds far to
The lands of Jacob,
Its solemn chant arousing
Creation to Thy praises!