A poet wrote:
I woke in the night,
The wind was pawing at my shutters,
With his wild prancing hoofs.
The swishing of his tail lashed the trees into the roof.
The shriek of his neighing was as a siren,
Announcing all the fires of hell.
The sound of his going was all the engines
Of earth rushing to extinguish them.
I cowered under the covers with wildly beating heart
Then—the truth came to my mind.
God rides that wind
He holds the reins by the arms of His might,
He guides those curveting hoofs aright.
The flying black Pegassus of the night,
Obeys God's voice in his untamed flight,
I am safe in God's care!
As to comfort for our hearts that verse is all organs in one diapason, a volume in a line.
VISITOR—"What became of that other windmill that was here last year?"
NATIVE—"There was only enough wind for one, so we took it down."
Whichever way the wind doth blow
Some heart is glad to have it so;
Then blow it east, or blow it west,
The wind that blows, that wind is best.—Caroline A. Mason.