Jovelike, imperious, and unafraid, See how he leans upon the books of stone! These mighty limbs, these sinews were but made That he might bear his heavy task alone. Like the Philistine in his giant strength, Like to Jehovah in his wrathful eyes, he fears no sea, no tide, no journey's length, No priest of Baal, or prophet in disguise. This is not Moses. Here is no slow tongue, No meekness, nor the anguish of a cry That immemorially from the heart is wrung: "That I should do this thing, Lord, who am I?" This is the burning bush, the prophet's rod, This is no man. It is the voice of God. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LITTLE ELF-MAN by JOHN KENDRICK BANGS SECOND BOOK OF AIRS: 7. THE MEASURE OF BEAUTY by THOMAS CAMPION FACADE: 27. WHEN SIR BEELZEBUB by EDITH SITWELL TO HIS INGENIOUS FRIEND, MR. N. TATE by PHILIP AYRES A GRACE BEFORE DINNER by ROBERT BURNS A BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 16 by THOMAS CAMPION OBSERVATIONS IN THE ART OF ENGLISH POESY: 6. TROCHAIC VERSE: THE SECOND EPIGRAM by THOMAS CAMPION |