I thought not of the pain, and terror, and death that reigned in the human habitation upon which the bolt of destruction had fallen, but of the sublime power displayed in the strife of the elements.
There was another change.

I no longer stood on the mountain, with the lightning and tempest around me; but was in the valley below, down upon which the storm had swept with devastating fury.

Fields of grain were level with the earth; houses destroyed; and the trophies of industry marred in a hundred ways.
"How sublime are the works of the tempest!" said a voice near me.

I turned, and the old man was again at my side.
But I did not respond to his words.
"What majesty! What awful sublimity and power!" continued the old man.

"But," he added, in a changed voice, "there is a higher power in the gentle rain than lies in the rushing tempest.