Full on the confines of our ether, flames: While (dreadful contrast!) far, how far beneath! Hell, bursting, belches forth her blazing seas, And storms sulphureous; her voracious jaws Expanding wide, and roaring for her prey. Lorenzo! welcome to this scene; the last In nature's course; the first in wisdom's thought. 189 This strikes, if aught can strike thee; this awakes The most supine; this snatches man from death. Rouse, rouse, Lorenzo, then, and follow me, Where truth, the most momentous man can hear, Loud calls my soul, and ardour wings her flight. I find my inspiration in my theme: The grandeur of my subject is my Muse. At midnight, when mankind is wrapt in peace, And worldly fancy feeds on golden dreams; To give more dread to man's most dreadful hour. At midnight, 'tis presumed, this pomp will burst 200 From tenfold darkness; sudden as the spark From smitten steel; from nitrous grain, the blaze. Man, starting from his couch, shall sleep no more! The day is broke, which never more shall close! Above, around, beneath, amazement all! Terror and glory join'd in their extremes! Our God in grandeur, and our world on fire! All nature struggling in the pangs of death! Dost thou not hear her? Dost thou not deplore Her strong convulsions, and her final groan? 210 Where are we now? Ah me! the ground is gone, On which we stood; Lorenzo! while thou may'st, Provide more firm support, or sink for ever! Where? how? from whence? Vain hope! it is too late! Where, where, for shelter, shall the guilty fly, When consternation turns the good man pale? Great day! for which all other days were made; For which earth rose from chaos, man from earth; And an eternity, the date of gods, Descended on poor earth-created man! 220 Great day of dread, decision, and despair! At thought of thee, each sublunary wish Lets go its eager grasp, and drops the world; 223 And catches at each reed of hope in heaven. At thought of thee!--And art thou absent then? Lorenzo! no; 'tis here; it is begun;-- Already is begun the grand assize, In thee, in all: deputed Conscience scales The dread tribunal, and forestalls our doom; Forestalls; and, by forestalling, proves it sure. 230 Why on himself should man void judgment pass? Is idle Nature laughing at her sons? Who Conscience sent, her sentence will support, And God above assert that God in man. Thrice happy they that enter now the court Heaven opens in their bosoms! but, how rare, Ah me! that magnanimity, how rare! What hero, like the man who stands himself; Who dares to meet his naked heart alone; Who bears, intrepid, the full charge it brings, 240 Resolved to silence future murmurs there? The coward flies; and, flying, is undone.