Psalm of Clout

o

Grand peaks melt

As the licking wax’s tide

Before Thy glory –

Thee, who tread on the cobra,

Trampling grand lions of spears!

oo

Though thunder roars,

Thee cast the twilight rays South

Unto the sand dunes,

Arrows convulsing beneath

The whirlwind of Thy power!

ooo

And the liquid quakes

Below Thy mighty footsteps,

Whilst the smoke rises

From Thy nostrils, blazing coals

Igniting Thy lips above –

oooo

Thee soar upon gusts

And form canopies from clouds

Pregnant with fluid!

Hailstorms bow to Thee, their King,

The Bringer of dawns.

ooooo

And Thy Spirit sends

The Northern winds far to

The lands of Jacob,

Its solemn chant arousing

Creation to Thy praises!