When the blinding, blaring rain-squalls lash and veer;

Through the war-gongs of the thunder rings a voice more

loud than all —

It is Fear, O Little Hunter, it is Fear!

Now the spates are banked and deep; now the footless

boulders leap —

Now the lightning shows each littlest leaf-rib clear —

But thy throat is shut and dried, and thy heart against

thy side

Hammers: Fear, O Little Hunter — this is Fear!