University of Virginia Library

XVII.

Now for the dread tribunal all prepared,
Before the throne the Angel with the Books
Ascending kneeled, and crossing on his breast
His sable pinions there the volumes spread.
A second summons echoed from the trump,
Thrice sounded, when the mighty work began.
Waved onward by a Seraph's wand, the sea
Of palpitating bosoms toward the mount
In silence rolled. No sooner had the first
Pale tremblers its mysterious circle touched
Than instantaneous, swift as fancy's flash,
As lightning darting from the summer cloud,
Its past existence rose before the soul,
With all its deeds, with all its secret store
Of embryo works, and dark imaginings.
Amidst the chaos, thoughts as numberless
As whirling leaves when autumn strips the woods,
Light and disjointed as the Sibyl's, thoughts
Scattered upon the waste of long dim years,
Passed in a moment through the quickened soul.
Not with the glozing eye of earth beheld;
They saw as with the glance of Deity.
Conscience, stern arbiter in every breast,
Decided. Self acquitted or condemned,
Through two broad glittering avenues of spears
They crossed the Angelic squadrons, right, or left
The Judgment-seat; by power supernal led
To their allotted stations on the plain.
As onward, onward, numberless, they came,
And touched, appalled, the verge of Destiny,
The Heavenly Spirits inly sympathized:—
When youthful saints, or martyrs scarred and white,
With streaming faces, hands ecstatic clasped,
Sprang to the right, celestial beaming smiles
A ravishing beauty to their radiance gave;
But downcast looks of pity chilled the left.
What clenched hands, and frenzied steps were there!
Yet, on my shuddering soul, the stifled groan,
Wrung from some proud Blasphemer as he rushed,
Constrained by conscience, down the path of death,
Knells horrible.—On all the hurrying throng
The unerring pen stamped, as they passed, their fate.
Thus, in a day, amazing thought! were judged
The millions since from the Almighty's hand,
Launched on her course, earth rolled rejoicing. Whose
The doom to penal fires, and whose to joy,
From man's presumption mists and darkness veil.
So passed the day; divided stood the world,
An awful line of separation drawn,
And from his labors the Messiah ceased.