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Tranquility

    One who was suffering tumult in his soul
    Yet failed to seek the sure relief of prayer,
    Went forth—his course surrendering to the care
    Of fierce wind, while mid-day lightnings prowl
    Insiduously, untimely thunders growl;
    While trees, dim-seen, in frenzied numbers, tear
    The lingering remnant of their yellow hair,
    And shivering wolves, surprised with darkness, howl
    As if the sun were not.  He raised his eye
    Soul-smitten; for, the instant did appear
    Large space (‘mid dreadful clouds) of purest sky,
    An azure disc-shield of Tranquility;
    Invisible, unlooked-for, minister
    Of providential goodness ever night!

    — William Wordsworth