Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Listen, that voice! upon the hill of Mars,
Rolling in bolder thunders, than e'er pealed
From lips that shook the Macedonian throne;
Behold his dauntless outstretched arm, his face
Illumed of heaven:—he knoweth not the fear
Of man, of principalities, of powers.
The Stoic's moveless frown; the vacant stare
Of Epicurus' herd; the scowl and gnash malign
Of Superstition, stopping both her ears;
The Areopagite tribunal dread,
From whence the doom of Socrates was uttered;—
This hostile throng dismays him not; he seems,

As if no worldly object could inspire
A terror in his soul;—as if the vision,
Which, when he journeyed to Damascus, shone
From heaven, still swam before his eyes,
Out-dazzling all things earthly; as if the voice,
That spake from out the effulgence, ever rang
Within his ear, inspiring him with words,
Burning, majestic, lofty, as his theme,—
The resurrection, and the life to come.