Boston Church (continued)

Smiling in sunshine, as the storm frowns by,
Whose dreadful rage seems to thy quiet thrall r
As small birds' twitterings, that beneath thee fly. p
Winds call aloud, and they may louder call,
For, deaf to Danger's voice, sublime and grand c
Thou tower'st in thy old majesty o'er all.
Tempests, that break the tall masts like a wand, C
Howl their rage weary round thee; and no more D
Impression make, than summer winds that bow
The little trembling weeds upon thy wall. Q
Lightnings have blazed their centuries round thy brow,
And left no print-marks: — so in shadows hoar ti
Time decks and spares thee, till that doom is hurled f
That burns the ocean dry, and wrecks the world.