I looked into the night and saw
God writing with tumultuous flame
Upon the thunder’s front of awe,—
As on sonorous brass,—the Law,
Terrific, of His judgment name.
Weary of all life’s best and worst,
With hands of hate, I—who had pled,
I, who had prayed for death at first
And had not died—now stood and cursed
God, yet He would not strike me dead.