Above my head the great pine-branches tower; <br />Backwards and forwards each to the other bends, <br />Beckoning the tempest-cloud which hither wends <br />Like a slow-laboured thought, heavy with power: <br />Hark to the patter of the coming shower! <br />Let me be silent while the Almighty sends <br />His thunder-word along-but when it ends <br />I will arise and fashion from the hour <br />Words of stupendous import, fit to guard <br />High thoughts and purposes, which I may wave, <br />When the temptation cometh close and hard, <br />Like fiery brands betwixt me and the grave <br />Of meaner things-to which I am a slave, <br />If evermore I keep not watch and ward.<br /><br />George MacDonald<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/provision/
