The Play

Sound waves of thunder roll,
‘Fore bolts of lightning flash,
Tocar las campanas de Cristo,
In gongs of wringing crash.

Fill yourself with sights and sounds,
Of nature’s propitious display,
The fearful wonder of spectacle,
Among gauzy clouds of gray.

To whom do I owe this honor,
But a viator from heaven beyond,
The stage play written for me,
Then from the sky abscond.