How terrible thy torrent's deafening roar, Niagara, proud cataract of the world! And o'er thy bow-crowned forehead swiftly hurled, Thy maddened waves re-echo on the shore, With lion-voice, thy frightful " I am here!" Startled, the traveler, in the forest-shade Afar, at thy unwanton noise, afraid, Oft trembling stands. Yet what dost thou appear To Him who, in the hollow of his hand, Holds the wide world of waters? But a drop Of bucket: and thy thunder tone shall stop When He saith "Peace, be still." Then, understand, Who poured thy flood, the ever-living God, Walks thy brow's waves, where feet have never trod