On Horeb’s rock the pro­phet stood:
The Lord be­fore him passed:
A hur­ri­cane in an­gry mood
Swept by him strong and fast.
The for­ests fell be­fore its force;
The rocks were shi­vered in its course:
God rode not in the blast!
’Twas but the whirl­wind of His breath,
Announcing danger, wreck, and death.

It ceased. The air grew mute—a cloud
Came muf­fling up the sun:
When through the mount­ains deep and loud
An earth­quake thun­dered on.
The fright­ed eagle sprang in air;
The wolf ran howl­ing from his lair:
God was not in the stun!
’Twas but the roll­ing of His car,
The tramp­ling of His steeds from far.

’Twas still again; and Na­ture stood
And calmed her ruf­fled frame:
When swift from Heav’n a fie­ry flood
To earth de­vour­ing came.
Down to his depths the ocean fled,
The sick­en­ing sun looked wan and dead.
Yet God filled not the flame!
’Twas but the ter­rors of His eye,
That light­ened through the trou­bled sky.

At last a voice all still and small
Rose sweet­ly on the ear;
Yet rose so calm and clear, that all
In Heav’n and earth might hear.
It spoke of hope, it spoke of love,
It spoke as spir­its speak above;
And God Him­self was here.
For, oh, it was a Fa­ther’s voice,
That bade His trem­bling world re­joice.

Speak, gra­cious Lord, speak ev­er thus;
And let Thy ter­rors prove
The har­bin­gers of peace to us,
The her­alds of Thy love!
Shine through the earth­quake, fire, and storm.
Shine in Thy mild­er, bet­ter form,
And all our fears re­move!
One word of Thine is all we claim;
’Tis par­don through a Sav­ior’s name.