The Earthquake

On from the spot, that felt the first dismay,
His mighty path the running Earthquake clove;
While Ruin, aye attendant on his way,
Sped swiftly o'er the quaking realms above;
Slowly the seasons do transform the grove,
Most other change is wrought with soft delay,
Save this, which turns the course of streams astray,
Once and for evermore! when to remove
The landmarks of this earth our Maker wills,
The work is done with noises harsh and loud,
And lightning speed; such ministry fulfils
The 'hest of Him by whom the heavens are bow'd;
Whose throne is compass'd with a mystic cloud,
Who touches into smoke th' eternal hills.