But thou, worm of Spring, which, greenly golden, art fluttering
beside me, thou livest and art, perhaps, ah! not immortal....

The storm winds that carry the thunder, how they roar, how with
loud waves they stream athwart the forest! Now they hush, slow
wanders the black cloud....

Ah! already rushes heaven and earth with the gracious rain; now
is the earth refreshed....

Behold Jehovah comes no longer in storm; in gentle pleasant
murmurs comes Jehovah, and under him bends the bow of peace.

In another ode, _The Worlds_, he calls the stars 'drops of the
ocean.'

Again, in _Death_ he shews the sense of his own nothingness, in
presence of the overpowering greatness of the Creator:

Ye starry hosts that glitter in the sky,
How ye exalt me! Trancing is the sight
Of all Thy glorious works, Most High.
How lofty art Thou in Thy wondrous might;
What joy to gaze upon these hosts, to one
Who feels himself so little, God so great,
Himself but dust, and the great God his own!
Oh, when I die, such rapture on me wait!

As regards our subject, Klopstock performed this function--he tuned