I walked through the forest in the storm,
There was a soughing in all the branches,
It was a rejoicing, then soon a thundering
In the bowing of the proud treetops.
As it blustered above
And roared about me,
I myself began to sing,
In song and sound,
From a deep compulsion
To wrestle with the might of the storm.

“You come wandering, holy might,
With a strong blowing and weaving,
You fall upon the splendour of the forest,
So that its roots tremble.
With your breath
You strike me, too,
So that my soul shivers;
By your spirit,
Which circles about me creating,
My heart is made to feel fraught.

But though your arm may cause the forests to bow down,
I shall not flinch before you;
I was begotten from your strength,
You being of the world without restraining barriers.
When you look at me,
See if I am filled with horror
In your mighty raging,
Even if your lightning
From the seat of the clouds
Shatters the rocky structures of the cliffs.”

The storm soon fell silent, the clouds were tore apart,
I saw how the sky began to paint itself blue,
And through the forest’s gloom
Golden beams disported themselves.
Only whispering there wove,
Only quietly there arose
A gentle bustling yet,
But my heart still
Beat loudly, it bore
Love sown by the storm.