Among the graves a spiry building stood, Whose tolling bell, resounding through the shade, Sung doleful ditties to the adjacent wood, 475 And many a dismal drowsy thing it said. 120 This fabrick tall, with towers and chancels grac'd, Was rais'd by sinners' hands, in ages fled; The roof they painted, and the beams they brac'd, And texts from scripture o'er the walls they spread: 480 121 But wicked were their hearts, for they refus'd To aid the helpless orphan, when distrest, The shivering, naked stranger they mis-us'd, And banish'd from their doors the starving guest. 122 By laws protected, cruel and prophane, 485 The poor man's ox these monsters drove away;-- And left Distress to attend her infant train, No friend to comfort, and no bread to stay. 123 But heaven look'd on with keen, resentful eye, And doom'd them to perdition and the grave, 490 That as they felt not for the wretch distrest, So heaven no pity on their souls would have. 124 In pride they rais'd this building tall and fair, Their hearts were on perpetual mischief bent, With pride they preach'd, and pride was in their prayer, 495 With pride they were deceiv'd, and so to hell they went. 125 At distance far approaching to the tomb, By lamps and lanthorns guided through the shade, A coal-black chariot hurried through the gloom, Spectres attending, in black weeds array'd, 500 126 Whose woeful forms yet chill my soul with dread, Each wore a vest in Stygian chambers wove, Death's kindred all--Death's horses they bestrode, And gallop'd fiercely, as the chariot drove. 127 Each horrid face a grizly mask conceal'd, 505 Their busy eyes shot terror to my soul As now and then, by the pale lanthorn's glare, I saw them for their parted friend condole. 128 Before the hearse Death's chaplain seem'd to go, Who strove to comfort, what he could, the dead; 510 Talk'd much of Satan, and the land of woe, And many a chapter from the scriptures read. 129 At last he rais'd the swelling anthem high, In dismal numbers seem'd he to complain; The captive tribes that by Euphrates wept, 515 Their song was jovial to his dreary strain. 130 That done, they plac'd the carcase in the tomb, To dust and dull oblivion now resign'd, Then turn'd the chariot tow'rd the House of Night, Which soon flew off, and left no trace behind. 520 131 But as I stoop'd to write the appointed verse, Swifter than thought the airy scene decay'd; Blushing the morn arose, and from the east With her gay streams of light dispell'd the shade. 132