English Poets of the Eighteenth Century by Unknown
page 67 of 560 (11%)
page 67 of 560 (11%)
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Quick to devour them.
Such shall the noise be, and the wild disorder (If things eternal may be like these earthly), Such the dire terror when the great Archangel Shakes the creation; Tears the strong pillars of the vault of heaven, Breaks up old marble, the repose of princes. See the graves open, and the bones arising, Flames all around them! Hark, the shrill outcries of the guilty wretches! Lively bright horror and amazing anguish Stare through their eyelids, while the living worm lies Gnawing within them. Thoughts like old vultures, prey upon their heart-strings, And the smart twinges, when the eye beholds the Lofty Judge frowning, and a flood of vengeance Rolling afore Him. Hopeless immortals! how they scream and shiver, While devils push them to the pit wide-yawning Hideous and gloomy, to receive them headlong Down to the centre! Stop here, my fancy: (all away, ye horrid Doleful ideas!) come, arise to Jesus, How He sits God-like! and the saints around Him Throned, yet adoring! |
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