I am not like Ushkabús, a trembler in thy presence."

Thou the trembler of the wind, Thou, the spiritual flower Sentient of each breeze and shower,[067] Thou, rejoicing in the skies And transpierced with all their dyes; Breathing-vase with light o'erflowing, Gem-like to thy centre flowing, Thou the Poet's type shall be Flower of soul, Anemone!

And thou, poor trembler on life's stormy sea, Where dark the waves of sin and sorrow roll, To Him for refuge from the tempest flee, To Him, confiding, trust the sinking soul; For O, He came to calm the tempest-tossed, To seek the wandering, and to save the lost.

Look at the French Prophets, or Tremblers of the Cevennes, who had prophesyings and healings and discoverings of spirits and tongues and interpretations.