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!