Author Richard Henry Dana The workings of the soul ye fear; Ye fear the power that goodness hath; Ye fear the Unseen One ever near, Walking his ocean path.From out the silent void there comes a cry,—“Vengeance is mine! Thou, murderer, too, shalt die!” Tags Short Poems Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments