Classic Poem

On the peak of Almighty mountain
There stands since the youth day of time,
Remote, with his arms spread to Heaven,
A man, grey in silence, alone;
In his left hand a staff wielding power,
Whilst his right grasps the tables of stone;
And before him effulgence of glory,
For his girdle cloud hillocks sublime.

At his feet are two giants struck down,
Anakim in stature and main;
They contended against him with strength,
They attacked him in battle arrayed;
With an axe and a spear they presumed
To clamber on high and essayed
To wrest from his arms the Commandments
Engraven of stone—but in vain.

His eyes are aglow with the light
That is soft 'neath the eyelids of morn,
Looking down on the giants below
With the gaze of the righteous and meek;
The knees of the giants are sinking
Beneath them and bending, and weak.
Be still in his presence exalted!
Like to him has none ever been born.