In this mid site, this monumental clime, Rear'd by all realms to brave the wrecks of time A spacious dome swells up, commodious great, The last resort, the unchanging scene of state. On rocks of adamant the walls ascend, Tall columns heave and sky-like arches bend; Bright o'er the golden roofs the glittering spires Far in the concave meet the solar fires; Four blazing fronts, with gates unfolding high, Look with immortal splendor round the sky: Hither the delegated sires ascend, And all the cares of every clime attend. As that blest band, the guardian guides of heaven, To whom the care of stars and suns is given, (When one great circuit shall have proved their spheres, And time well taught them how to wind their years) Shall meet in general council; call'd to state The laws and labors that their charge await; To learn, to teach, to settle how to hold Their course more glorious, as their lights unfold: From all the bounds of space (the mandate known) They wing their passage to the eternal throne; Each thro his far dim sky illumes the road, And sails and centres tow'rd the mount of God; There, in mid universe, their seats to rear, Exchange their counsels and their works compare: So, from all tracts of earth, this gathering throng In ships and chariots shape their course along, Reach with unwonted speed the place assign'd To hear and give the counsels of mankind. South of the sacred mansion, first resort The assembled sires, and pass the spacious court. Here in his porch earth's figured Genius stands, Truth's mighty mirror poizing in his hands; Graved on the pedestal and chased in gold, Man's noblest arts their symbol forms unfold, His tillage and his trade; with all the store Of wondrous fabrics and of useful lore: Labors that fashion to his sovereign sway Earth's total powers, her soil and air and sea; Force them to yield their fruits at his known call, And bear his mandates round the rolling ball. Beneath the footstool all destructive things, The mask of priesthood and the mace of kings, Lie trampled in the dust; for here at last Fraud, folly, error all their emblems cast. Each envoy here unloads his wearied hand Of some old idol from his native land; One flings a pagod on the mingled heap, One lays a crescent, one a cross to sleep; Swords, sceptres, mitres, crowns and globes and stars, Codes of false fame and stimulants to wars Sink in the settling mass; since guile began, These are the agents of the woes of man.