Thou art not let; but with extremest speed Art hurrying to the Just and Holy Judge: For scarcely art thou disembodied yet. 340 Divide a moment, as men measure time, Into its million-million-millionth part, Yet even less than that the interval Since thou didst leave the body; and the priest Cried "Subvenite,"[26] and they fell to prayer; Nay, scarcely yet have they begun to pray. For spirits and men by different standards mete The less and greater in the flow of time. By sun and moon, primeval ordinances-- By stars which rise and set harmoniously-- 350 By the recurring seasons, and the swing, This way and that, of the suspended rod Precise and punctual, men divide the hours, Equal, continuous, for their common use. Not so with us in the immaterial world; But intervals in their succession Are measured by the living thought alone, And grow or wane with its intensity. And time is not a common property; But what is long is short, and swift is slow, 360 And near is distant, as received and grasped By this mind and by that, and every one Is standard of his own chronology. And memory lacks its natural resting-points Of years, and centuries, and periods. It is thy very energy of thought Which keeps thee from thy God. SOUL Dear Angel, say, Why have I now no fear at meeting Him? Along my earthly life, the thought of death 370 And judgment was to me most terrible. I had it aye before me, and I saw The Judge severe e'en in the crucifix. Now that the hour is come, my fear is fled; And at this balance of my destiny, Now close upon me, I can forward look With a serenest joy. ANGEL It is because Then thou didst fear, that now thou dost not fear. Thou hast forestalled the agony, and so 380 For thee the bitterness of death is past. Also, because already in thy soul The judgment is begun. That day of doom, One and the same for the collected world-- That solemn consummation for all flesh, Is, in the case of each, anticipate Upon his death; and, as the last great day In the particular judgment is rehearsed, So now too, ere thou comest to the Throne, A presage falls upon thee, as a ray 390 Straight from the Judge, expressive of thy lot. That calm and joy uprising in thy soul Is first-fruit to thee of thy recompense, And heaven begun. ß 4 SOUL But hark! upon my sense Comes a fierce hubbub, which would make me fear, Could I be frighted. ANGEL