Classic Poem

The trumpet blows, and loud the skies
Re-echo with the sound;
And from their graves the dead arise
And stretch their limbs long bound.

All who have legs set off apace:
The white-robed figures go
To Jehoshaphat, the gathering-place,
To be judged for weal or woe.

The Head of the Court is Christ the Lord,
Mid his twelve Apostles seated;
The Assessors they, whose each award
And word is wisely meted.

When the Trump of Doom awakes the dead:
When dawns the Judgment Day;
At this last tribunal, from every head
The mask is stripped away.

In the Vale of Jehoshaphat stand the ghosts,
Summoned forth to be damned or shriven,
And because of the overwhelming hosts,
A summary judgment's given.

The goats to the left, the sheep to the right—
They are sundered, and go to dwell,
The pious sheep in the realms of light,
The wanton goats in hell.