THE SHADOW OF THE JUDGMENT.

ABOVE those boundless bounds, where stars do move,
The ceiling of the crystal round above,

And rainbow-sparkling arch of diamond clear,
Which crowns the azure of each undersphere,
In a rich mansion, radiant with light,
To which the sun is scarce a taper bright,
Which, though a body, yet so pure is fram'd,
That almost spiritual it may be nam'd,
Where bliss aboundeth, and a lasting May,
All pleasures heightening, flourisheth for aye,
The King of Ages dwells. About his throne,
Like to those beams day's golden lamp hath on,
Angelic splendours glance, more swift than aught
Reveal'd to sense, nay, than the winged thought,
His will to practise here do seraphim
Burn with immortal love; there cherubim,
With other noble people of the light,

As eaglets in the sun, delight their sight;
Heaven's ancient denizens, pure active powers,
Which, freed of death, that cloister high embowers,
Ethereal princes, ever-conquering bands,

Blest subjects, acting what their king commands;
Sweet choristers, by whose melodious strains
Skies dance, and earth untir'd their brawl sustains.
Mixed among whose sacred legions dear,
The spotless souls of humanes do appear,

Divesting bodies which did cares divest,

And there live happy in eternal rest.

Hither, surcharg'd with grief, fraught with annoy, (Sad spectacle into that place of joy!) Her hair disorder'd, dangling o'er her face, Which had of pallid violets the grace; The crimson mantle, wont her to adorn, Cast loose about, and in large pieces torn ; Sighs breathing forth, and from her heavy eyne, Along her cheeks distilling crystal brine, Which downward to her ivory breast was driven, And had bedew'd the milky-way of heaven, Came Piety at her left hand near by, A wailing woman bare her company, Whose tender babes her snowy neck did clip,

And now hang on her pap, now by her lip:

Flames glanc'd her head above, which once did glow,
But late look pale, a poor and ruthful show!
She, sobbing, shrunk the throne of God before,

And thus began her case to him deplore:

Forlorn, wretch'd, desolate! to whom should I
My refuge have, below or in the sky,
But unto thee? See, all-beholding King,
That servant, no, that darling thou didst bring
On earth, lost man to save from hell's abime,
And raise unto those regions above time;
Who made thy name so truly be implor'd,
And by the reverend soul so long ador'd,
Her banish'd now see from these lower bounds;
Behold her garments' shreds, her body's wounds:

Look how her sister Charity there stands,
Proscrib'd on earth, all maim'd by wicked hands:
Mischief there mounts to such an high degree,
That there now none is left that cares for me.
There dwells idolatry, there atheism reigns;
There man in dumb, yet roaring, sins him stains;
So foolish, that he puppets will adore

Of metal, stone, and birds, beasts, trees, before
He once will to Thy holy service bow,

And yield Thee homage. Ah, alas! yet now

To those black sp'rits which thou dost keep in chains
He vows obedience, and with shameful pains
Infernal horrors courts; case fond and strange !
To bane than bliss desiring more the change.
Thy Charity, of graces once the chief,
Did long time find in hospitals relief;
Which now lie levell'd with the lowest ground,
Where sad memorials scarce are of them found.
Then (vagabonding) temples her receiv'd,
Where my poor cells afforded what she crav'd;
But now thy temples raz'd are, human blood
Those places stains, late where thy altars stood :
Times are so horrid, to implore thy name
That it is held now on the earth a blame.

Now doth the warrior, with his dart and sword,
Write laws in blood, and vent them for thy word:
Religion, faith pretending to make known,
All have, all faith, religion quite o'erthrown!
Men awless, lawless live; most woful case!
Men no more men, a God-contemning race.

Scarce had she said, when, from the nether world
(Like to a lightning through the welkin hurl'd,
That scores with flames the way, and every eye
With terror dazzles as it swimmeth by,)

Came Justice; to whom angels did make place,
And Truth her flying footsteps straight did trace.
Her sword was lost, the precious weights she bare
Their beam had torn, scales rudely bruised were:
From off her head was reft her golden crown;
In rags her veil was rent, and star-spangled gown;
Her tear-wet locks hang'd o'er her face, which made
Between her and the Mighty King a shade;
Just wrath had rais'd her colour (like the morn
Portending clouds moist embryos to be born),

Of which, she taking leave, with heart swoll'n great,
Thus strove to 'plain before the throne of state.

Is not the earth thy workmanship, great King? Didst thou not all this All from nought once bring To this rich beauty, which doth on it shine; Bestowing on each creature of thine

Some shadow of thy bounty? Is not man

Thy vassal, plac'd to spend his life's short span
To do thee homage? And then didst not thou
A queen install me there, to whom should bow
Thy earth's in-dwellers, and to this effect
Put in my hand thy sword? O high neglect !
Now wretched earthlings, to thy great disgrace,
Perverted have my pow'r, and do deface
All reverent tracts of justice now the earth
Is but a frame of shame, a funeral hearth,

Where every virtue hath consumed been,
And nought (no, not their dust) rests to be seen:
Long hath it me abhorr'd, long chased me ;
Expell'd at last, here I have fled to Thee,
And forthwith rather would to hell repair,
Than earth, since justice execute is there.
All live on earth by spoil, the host his guest
Betrays; the man of her lies in his breast
Is not assur'd; the son the father's death
Attempts; and kindred kindred reave of breath
By lurking means, of such age few makes sick,
Since hell disgorg'd her baneful arsenic.
Whom murders, foul assassinates defile,
Most who the harmless innocents beguile,
Who most can ravage, rob, ransack, blaspheme,
Is held most virtuous, hath a worthy's name;
So on embolden'd malice they rely,
That, madding, thy great puissance they defy:
Erst man resembled thy portrait, soil'd by smoke
Now like thy creature hardly doth he look.
Old Nature here (she pointed where there stood
An aged lady in a heavy mood)

Doth break her staff, denying human race

To come of her, things born to her disgrace!

The dove the dove, the swan doth love the swan ;

Nought so relentless unto man as man.

O! if thou mad'st this world, govern'st it all,
Deserved vengeance on the earth let fall:
The period of her standing perfect is ;

Her hour-glass not a minute short doth miss.