THE DAY OF JUDGMENT: A POETICAL ESSAY. BY DR. GLYNN. THY justice, heavenly King! and that great day, When Virtue, long abandon'd and forlorn, Shall raise her pensive head; and Vice, that erst Rang'd unreprov'd and free, shall sink appall'd, I sing adventurous. — But what eye can pierce The vast immeasurable realms of space O'er which Messiah drives his flaming car To that bright region, where enthron'd he sits First-born of heaven, to judge assembled worlds, Cloath'd in celestial radiance! Can the Muse, Her feeble wing all damp with earthly dew, Soar to that bright empyreal, where around, Myriads of angels, God's perpetual choir, Hymn Halelujah's; and in concert loud Chaunt songs of triumph to their Maker's praise? — Yet will I strive to sing, albeit unus'd To tread poetic soil. What tho' the wiles Of Fancy me enchanted ne'er could lure To rove o'er fairy lands; to swim the streams That thro' her vallies weave their mazy way; Or climb her mountain tops; yet will I raise My feeble voice to tell what harmony (Sweet as the music of the rolling spheres) Attunes the moral world: that Virtue still May hope her promis'd crown; that Vice may dread Vengeance, tho' late; that reasoning Pride may own Just tho' unsearchable the ways of heaven. Sceptic! whoe'er thou art, who say'st the soul, That divine particle, which God's own breath Inspir'd into the mortal mass, shall rest Annihilate, 'till Duration has unroll'd Her never-ending line; tell, if thou know'st, Why every nation, every clime, tho' all In laws, in rites, in manners disagree, With one consent expect another world, Where wickedness shall weep? Why Paynim bards, Fabled Elysian plains, Tartarean lakes, Styx and Cocytus? Tell, why Hali's sons Have seign'd a paradise of mirth and love, Banquets, and blooming nymphs? Or rather tell, Why, on the brink of Orellana's stream, Where never Science rear'd her sacred torch, Th' untutor'd Indian dreams of happier worlds Behind the cloud-topt hill? why in each breast Is plac'd a friendly monitor, that prompts, Informs, directs, encourages, forbids? Tell, why on unknown evil grief attends, Or joy on secret good? Why conscience acts With tenfold force, when sickness, age, or pain, Stands tottering on the precipice of Death? Or why such horror gnaws the guilty soul Of dying sinners; while the good man sleeps Peaceful and calm, and with a smile expires? Look round the world, with what a partial hand The scale of bliss and misery is sustain'd! Beneath the shade of cold obscurity Pale Virtue lies! no arm supports her head, No friendly voice speaks comfort to her soul, Nor soft-ey'd Pity drops a melting tear; But, in their stead, Contempt and rude Disdain Insult the banish'd wanderer: on she goes Neglected and forlorn: Disease, and Cold, And Famine, worst of ills, her steps attend: Yet patient, and to heaven's just will resign'd, She ne'er is seen to weep, or heard to sigh. Now turn your eyes to yon sweet-smelling bower, Where flush'd with all the insolence of wealth Sits pamper'd Vice! For him th' Arabian gale Breathes forth delicious odours! Gallia's hills For him pour nectar from the purple vine; Nor think for these he pays the tribute due To heaven: of heaven he never names the name, Save when with imprecations dark and dire He points his jest obscene. Yet buxom Health Sits on his rosy cheek; yet Honour gilds His high exploits; and downy pinion'd Sleep Sheds a soft epiate o'er his peaceful couch. See'st thou this, righteous Father! See'st thou this, And wilt thou ne'er repay? Shall good and ill Be carried undistinguish'd to the land Where all things are forgot? — Ah! no; the day Will come, when Virtue from the cloud shall burst That long obscur'd her beams; when Sin shall fly Back to her native hell; there sink eclips'd In penal darkness; where nor star shall rise, Nor ever sunshine pierce th' impervious gloom. On that great day the solemn trump shall sound, (That trump which once in heaven on man's revolt Convok'd the astonish'd seraphs) at whose voice Th' unpeopled graves shall pour forth all their dead. Then shall th' assembled nations of the earth From every quarter, at the judgment-seat Unite; Egyptians, Babylonians, Greeks, Parthians, and they who dwelt on Tyber's banks, Names fam'd of old: or who of later age, Chinese and Russian, Mexican and Turk, Tenant the wide Terrene; and they who pitch Their tents on Niger's banks; or where the sun Pours on Golconda's spires his early light, Drink Ganges' sacred stream. At once shall rise, Whom distant ages to each other's sight Had long denied; before the throne shall kneel Some great progenitor, while at his side Stands his descendant thro' a thousand lines. Whate'er their nation, and whate'er their rank, Heroes and patriarchs, slaves and scepter'd kings, With equal eye the God of all shall see; And judge with equal love. What tho' the great With costly pomp and aromatic sweets Embalm'd his poor remains; or thro' the dome A thousand tapers shed their gloomy light, While solemn organs to his parting soul Chaunted slow orisons? Say, by what mark Dost thou discern him from that lowly swain Whose mouldering bones beneath the thorn bound turf Long lay neglected? — All at once shall rise; But not to equal glory: for, alas! With howlings dire and execrations loud Some wail their fatal birth. — First among these Behold the mighty murtherers of mankind; They who in sport whole kingdoms slew; or they Who to the tottering pinnacle of power Waded thro' seas of blood! How will they curse The madness of ambition; how lament Their dear-bought laurels; when the widow'd wife And childless mother at the judgment-seat Plead trumpet-tongu'd against them! — Here are they Who sunk an aged father to the grave: Or with unkindness hard and cold disdain Slighted a brother's sufferings: — Here are they Whom fraud and skilful treachery long secur'd; Who from the infant virgin tore her dower, And eat the orphan's bread: — who spent their stores In selfish luxury; or o'er their gold Prostrate and pale ador'd the useless heap. — Here too who stain'd the chaste connubial bed; — Who mix'd the poisonous bowl; — or broke the ties Of hospitable friendship: — and the wretch Whose listless soul sick with the cares of life Unsummon'd to the presence of his God Rush'd in with insult rude. How would they joy Once more to visit earth; and, tho' oppress'd With all that Pain and Famine can inflict, Pant up the hill of life? Vain wish! the Judge Pronounces doom eternal on their heads, Perpetual punishment. Seek not to know What punishment! for that th' Almighty Will Has hid from mortal eyes: and shall vain man With curious search refin'd presume to pry Into thy secrets, Father! No: let him With humble patience all thy works adore, And walk in all thy paths: so shall his meed Be great in heaven, so haply shall he 'scape The immortal worm and never-ceasing fire. But who are they, who bound in ten-fold chains Stand horribly aghast? This is the crew Who strove to pull Jehovah from his throne, And in the place of heaven's Eternal King Set up the phantom Chance. For them in vain Alternate seasons chear'd the rolling year; In vain the sun o'er herb, tree, fruit, and flower Shed genial influence, mild; and the pale moon Repair'd her waning orb. — Next these is plac'd The vile blasphemer, he, whose impious wit Profan'd the sacred mysteries of faith, And 'gainst the impenetrable walls of heaven Planted his feeble battery. By these stands The arch Apostate: he with many a wile Exhorts them still to foul revolt. Alas! No hope have they from black despair, no ray Shines thro' the gloom to chear their sinking souls: In agonies of grief they curse the hour When first they left Religion's onward way. These on the left are rang'd: but on the right A chosen band appears, who fought beneath The banner of Jehovah, and defy'd Satan's united legions. Some, unmov'd At the grim tyrant's frown, o'er barbarous climes Diffus'd the gospel's light; some, long immur'd (Sad servitude!) in chains and dungeons pin'd; Or rack'd with all the agonies of pain Breath'd out their faithful lives. Thrice happy they Whom heaven elected to that glorious strife! — Here are they plac'd, whose kind munificence Made heaven-born Science raise her drooping head; And on the labours of a future race Entail'd their just reward. Thou amongst these Good SEATON! whose well-judg'd benevolence Fostering fair Genius bad the Poet's hand Bring annual offerings to his Maker's shrine, Shalt find the generous care was not in vain. — Here is that favourite band, whom mercy mild, God's best lov'd attribute, adorn'd; whose gate Stood ever open to the stranger's call; Who fed the hungry, to the thirsty lip Reach'd out the friendly cup; whose care benign From the rude blast secur'd the pilgrim's side; Who heard the widow's tender tale; and shook The galling shackle from the prisoner's feet; Who each endearing tye, each office knew Of meek-ey'd heaven-descended Charity. — O Charity, thou nymph divinely fair! Sweeter than those whom antient Poets bound In amity's indissoluble chain, The Graces! How shall I essay to paint Thy charms, celestial maid; and in rude verse Blazon those deeds thyself didst ne'er reveal? For thee nor rankling envy can infect, Nor rage transport, nor high o'erweening pride Puff up with vain conceit; ne'er didst thou smile To see the sinner as a verdant tree Spread his luxuriant branches o'er the stream; While like some blasted trunk the righteous fall, Prostrate, forlorn. When prophesies shall fail, When tongues shall cease, when knowledge is no more, And this great day is come; thou by the throne Shalt sit triumphant. Thither, lovely maid, Bear me, O bear me on thy soaring wing, And thro' the adamantine gates of heaven Conduct my steps, safe from the fiery gulph And dark abyss where Sin and Satan reign! But, can the Muse, her numbers all too weak, Tell how that restless element of fire Shall wage with seas and earth intestine war, And deluge all creation? Whether (so Some think) the comet, as thro' fields of air Lawless he wanders, shall rush headlong on Thwarting th' Ecliptic where th' unconscious earth Rolls in her wonted course; whether the sun With force centripetal into his orb Attract her long reluctant; or the caves, Those dread Vulcanos where engendering lye Sulphureous minerals, from their dark abyss Pour streams of liquid fire; while from above, As erst on Sodom, heaven's avenging hand Rains fierce combustion. — Where are now the works Of art, the toil of ages? Where are now Th' imperial cities, sepulchres and domes, Trophies and pillars? — Where is Egypt's boast, Those lofty pyramids, which high in air Rear'd their aspiring heads, to distant times Of Memphian pride a lasting monument? — Tell me where Athens rais'd her towers? — Where Thebes Open'd her hundred portals? — Tell me where Stood sea-girt Albion? — Where imperial Rome Propt by seven hills sat like a sceptred Queen, And aw'd the tributary world to peace? — Shew me the rampart, which o'er many a hill, Thro' many a valley stretch'd its wide extent, Rais'd by that mighty monarch, to repel The roving Tartar, when with insult rude 'Gainst Pekin's towers he bent th'unerring bow. But what is mimic Art? Even Nature's works, Seas, meadows, pastures, the meandering streams, And everlasting hills shall be no more. No more shall Teneriff cloud-piercing height O'er-hang th' Atlantic Surge. — Nor that fam'd cliff, Thro' which the Persian steer'd with many a sail, Throw to the Lemnian Isle its evening shade O'er half the wide Aegean. — Where are now The Alps that confin'd with unnumber'd realms, And from the Black Sea to the Ocean stream Stretch'd their extended arms? — Where's Ararat, That hill on which the faithful Patriarch's Ark Which seven long months had voyaged o'er its top First rested, when the Earth with all her sons, As now by streaming cataracts of fire, Was whelm'd by mighty waters? — All at once Are vanish'd and dissolv'd; no trace remains, No mark of vain distinction: heaven itself That azure vault with all those radiant orbs Sinks in the universal ruin lost. — No more shall planets round their central sun Move in harmonious dance; no more the moon Hang out her silver lamp; and those fix'd stars Spangling the golden canopy of night, Which oft the Tuscan with his optic glass Call'd from their wonderous height, to read their names And magnitude, some winged minister Shall quench; and (surest sign that all on earth Is lost) shall rend from heaven the mystic bow. Such is that awful, that tremendous day, Whose coming who shall tell? for as a thief Unheard, unseen, it steals with silent pace Thro' night's dark gloom. — Perhaps as here I sit And rudely carol these incondite lays, Soon shall the hand be check'd, and dumb the mouth That lisps the faultering strain. — O! may it ne'er Intrude unwelcome on an ill-spent hour; But find me wrapt in meditations high, Hymning my great Creator! "Power supreme! " O Everlasting King! to thee I kneel, "To thee I lift my voice. With fervent heat " Melt all ye elements? And thou, high heaven, "Shrink, like a shrivell'd scroll? But think, O Lord, " Think on the best, the noblest of thy works; "Think on thine own bright Image! Think on him, " Who died to save us from thy righteous wrath; "And 'midst the wreck of worlds remember man!"