With Many a Swift and Crashing Stroke

With ma­ny a swift and crash­ing stroke

From clouds

the fri­gates of the sky

Huge so­lemn-sail­ing clouds

there broke

Victorious bursts of en­er­gy.

The lance-like rain

the dart­ing hail

These rushed and ceased

while round about

The sul­fur­ous light­nings

red or pale

Gleamed and led on the roll­ing shout.

I saw the glo­ri­ous bat­tle-show

The Lord came down

and for us fought;

Blights and dis­eas­es were the foe;

Great was the vic­to­ry He wrought.

Now breathes a tran­quil

buoy­ant air;

Nature op­pressed is calm and free;

O storm

thy sounds of te­rror were

The sig­nals of thy vic­to­ry.

One ge­ne­ral plea­sure of re­lease

Pervades to­day the earth and sky;

Bright qui­et clouds

like ships of peace

The ai­ry ocean beau­ti­fy.

While an­chored on the ho­ri­zon far

Dark

bat­tle-brok­en clouds at­test

The sharp­ness of that heav­en­ly war

By which they pur­chased us our rest.