Sir Walter Scott

Loud o'er my head though awful thunders roll,
And vivid lightnings flash from pole to pole,
Yet read more

Loud o'er my head though awful thunders roll,
And vivid lightnings flash from pole to pole,
Yet 'tis Thy voice, my God, that bids them fly,
Thy arm directs those lightnings through the sky.
Then let the good Thy mighty name revere,
And hardened sinners Thy just vengeance fear.

Profan'd the God-given strength, and marr'd the lofty line.

Profan'd the God-given strength, and marr'd the lofty line.

Busily engaged in doing nothing. [A squirrel in a cage.]

Busily engaged in doing nothing. [A squirrel in a cage.]

Where's the coward that would not dare
To fight for such a land?

Where's the coward that would not dare
To fight for such a land?

Vengeance, deep-brooding o'er the slain, Had locked the source of softer woe, And burning pride and high disdain Forbade the read more

Vengeance, deep-brooding o'er the slain, Had locked the source of softer woe, And burning pride and high disdain Forbade the rising tear to flow