The Whirlwinds Bear

To its covert glides the silent bird,

While the hurricane’s distant voice is heard,

Uplifted among the mountains round,

And the forests hear and answer the sound.

Darker—still darker! the whirlwinds bear

The dust of the plains to the middle air:

And hark to the crashing, long and loud,

Of the chariot of God in the thunder-cloud!

You may trace its path by the flashes that start

From the rapid wheels where’er they dart,

As the fire-bolts leap to the world below,

And flood the skies with a lurid glow.

~ William Cullen Bryant

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Photo by Richard Fogg