When a stream of light rushed, and our sun began to be, a cataract of waves of light poured, as adown the rock a storm-cloud, and girded Orion, then flowedst thou, drop, out of the hand of the Almighty.  Who are the thousandfold thousands, who all the myriads that inhabit the drop?...

    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 the strings of feeling for Nature to a higher pitch, thereby excelling all his contemporaries.  His poetry always tended to extravagance; but in thought, feeling, and language alike, he was ahead of his time.

The idyllic was now cultivated with increased fervour, especially by the Goettingen Brotherhood of Poets.  The artificial and conventional began to wane, and Nature’s own voice was heard again.  The songs of Claudius were like a breath of spring.[15] His peasant songs have the genuine ring; they are hail-fellow-well-met with Nature.  Hebel is the only modern poet like him.

  EVENING SONG

  The lovely day-star’s run its course.... 
  Come, mop my face, dear wife,
  And then dish up.... 
  The silvery moon will look down from his place
  And preside at our meal over dishes and grace.

He hated artificiality: 

    Simple joy in Nature, free from artifice, gives as great a
    pleasure as an honest lover’s kiss.

His Cradle Song to be sung by Moonlight is delightful in its naive humour (the moon was his special favourite): 

  Sleep then, little one.  Why dost thou weep? 
  Moonlight so tender and quiet so deep,
  Quickly and easily cometh thy sleep. 
  Fond of all little ones is the good moon;
  Girls most of all, but he even loves boys. 
  Down from up there he sends beautiful toys.... 
  He’s old as a raven, he goes everywhere;
  Even when father was young, he was there.