Storm

I looked into the night and saw
God writing with tumultuous flame
Upon the thunder’s front of awe,--
As on sonorous brass,--the Law,
Terrific, of His judgment name.

Weary of all life’s best and worst,
With hands of hate, I--who had pled,
I, who had prayed for death at first
And had not died--now stood and cursed
God, yet He would not strike me dead.