of the Hebrew's songs, you would know he had borrowed it, in a moment."

"And so, if it were the other way."

"Of course," said their old captain, joining in this conversation.
"Homer, if you call him so, sings the thing made: David sings the maker.
Or, rather, Homer thinks of the thing made: David thinks of the maker,
whatever they sing."

"I was going to say that Homer would sing of cities; and David, of the
life in them."

"It is not what they say so much, as the way they look at it. The Greek
sees the outside,--the beauty of the thing; the Hebrew--"

"Hush!"

For David and his new friend had been talking too. Homer had told him of
the storm at sea they met a few days before; and David, I think, had
spoken of a mountain-tornado, as he met it years before. In the
excitement of his narrative he struck the harp, which was still in his
hand, and sung:--

"Then the earth shook and trembled,
The foundations of the hills moved and were shaken,
Because He was wroth;
There went up a smoke out of his nostrils,
And fire out of his mouth devoured;
It burned with living coal.
He bowed the heavens also, and came down,