On the Day of Judgment

At midnight, when mankind are wrap'd in peace, And worldly fancy feeds on golden dreams; To give more dread to man's most dreadful hour; At midnight, 'tis presum'd, this pomp will burst From tenfold darkness; sudden as the spark From smitten steel; from nitrous grain, the blaze. Man, starting from his couch, shall sleep no more! The day is broke, which never more shall close! Above, around, beneath, amazement all! Terror and glory join'd in their extremes! Our God in grandeur, and our world on fire! All nature struggling in the pangs of death! Dost thou not hear her? Dost thou not deplore Her strong convulsions, and her final groan? Where are we now? Ah me! the ground is gone, On which we stood, LORENZO! while thou may'st, Provide more firm support, or sink forever! Where? how? from whence? vain hope! It is too late! Where, where, for shelter, shall the guilty fly, When consternation turns the good man pale? Great day! for which all other days were made; For which earth rose from chaos, man from earth; And an eternity, the date of Gods, Descended on poor earth-created man! Great day of dread, decision, and despair! At thought of thee, each sublunary wish Lets go its eager grasp, and drops the world; And catches at each reed of hope in heaven. At thought of thee! And art thou absent then, LORENZO! no; 'tis here; it is begun; Already is begun the grand assize, In thee, in all. Deputed conscience scales The dread tribunal, and forestals our doom: Forestals; and, by forestalling, proves it sure. Why on himself should man void judgment pass? Is idle nature laughing at her sons? Who conscience sent, her sentence will support, And God above assert that God in man. Thrice happy they, who enter now the court Heav'n opens in their bosoms: but, how rare! Ah me! that magnanimity how rare! What hero, like the man who stands himself; Who dares to meet his naked heart alone; Who hears, intrepid, the full charge it brings, Resolv'd to silence future murmurs there? The coward flies; and flying is undone. (Art thou a coward? No.) The coward flies; Thinks, but thinks slightly; asks, but fears to know; Asks "What is truth?" with Pilate; and retires; Dissolves the court, and mingles with the throng; Asylum sad! from reason, hope, and heav'n! Shall all, but man, look out with ardent eye, For that great day; which was ordain'd for man? O day of consummation! Mark supreme (If men are wise) of human thought! nor least, Or in the sight of angels, or their King! Angels, whose radiant circles, height o'er height, Order o'er order rising, blaze o'er blaze, As in a theatre, surround this scene, Intent on man, and anxious for his fate: Angels look out for thee; for thee, their Lord, To vindicate his glory; and for thee, Creation universal calls aloud, To disinvolve the moral world, and give To Nature's renovation brighter charms.