HOW splendid is the righteous wrath
Born in a good man’s soul!
Ignoble things fly from his path,
Loud thunders round him roll,—
Yet tenderness and love he hath.
Like some gigantic forest fire,
His mighty anger sweeps;
An eager flame of awful ire,
At every wrong it leaps,—
Still, lasting peace he doth desire.
Then, swift as flies the meteor’s spark,
His anger disappears;
Born for the hour it met its mark,—
He sootheth now love’s fears,
While wrong sits trembling in the dark!
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