Classic Poem

Creature of God, immortal man!
Poor vessel wrought of clay!
Whose present life is but a span,
So quick it fleets away!
Why on Eternity's high prize
So little dost thou set thine eyes?
Ah! didst thou but its greatness know,
Then wouldst thou covet it alone,
Nor waste a single thought upon
These vanities below.

And O, if but thou couldest feel,
And see and understand
The greatness of the pains of Hell,
Upon the other hand,
How wouldst thou hasten at the view
Thy carnal passions to subdue!
How, trembling with excess of dread,
Wouldst thou thy former life recall;
Thy sins lamenting, each and all,
Of thought and word and deed!

Such is the bliss of Saints on high,
Such is the utter woe
For sinners, from eternity
Prepar'd in Hell below;
That the immensity of each
No thought can grasp or language reach:
Then only is it truly known,
When, borne upon her secret flight,
The soul departs to endless night,
Or to a glorious crown.

When to the silence of the tomb
The flesh in death descends,
Naught of the soul's eternal doom
Is known to former friends;
Whether it be in bliss or woe,
But few a passing thought bestow:
Some decent tears, perchance, they shed,
Then haste the heritage to share,
And eager for the spoil, prepare
To battle o'er the dead!

Both good and bad fall equally
By death's relentless aim;
And to the carnal human eye
Their lot appears the same;
But things alike to outer sense
Hide an eternal difference;—
No after-prayers will pardon win;
Naught will avail funereal rite,
Or Sacrifice, for him whom night
O'ertakes in mortal sin.

Ah, wretch! to him the time is past
For penitential tears;
The hour delay'd is come at last,
Whence no retreat appears;
Look he below, or look on high,
There is no place where he may fly
From his Almighty Judge severe;
Hide he in Heav'n or deepest Hell,
There is a force will him compel
His bitter doom to hear.

The soul that never Jesus lov'd,
Nor serv'd in Mary's train,
From every hope of bliss remov'd,
Will then lament in vain:
For her no Patron Saint will plead,
No tender Guardian intercede;
For well—alas! too well—they know,
Vainly would Heav'n its labour spend,
Striving to save a soul condemn'd
To everlasting woe.

The Angels, while with tearful eyes
They bid a long adieu,
Will still confess the judgment wise,
And own the sentence true.
Yea, all the creatures of the Lord
Will that most righteous Judge applaud.
Nor any other sentence give;
Which, piercing through her heart of pride,
Will sorer still than all beside
Her guilty conscience grieve.

Conscience itself, in blank despair,
Forc'd in its own despite,
Against itself will witness bear,
And own the judgment right.—
Ah! then the torments will begin,
Torments for unrepented sin;
Then, lost to every chance of bliss,
The soul to furious madness driven,
Smit by a sudden blast from Heaven,
Shall sweep to Hell's abyss!

There in herself most desolate,
Whelm'd in the fiery flood,
Object of her own endless hate,
Abhorrence of the good;
Fated to weep, and weep in vain;—
Never may she come forth again
From her drear prison-house of woe;
Sever'd from Heav'n, confin'd to Hell,
By a deep gulf, impassable,
While countless ages flow.

Alas! what tongue of man can speak,
What heart can comprehend,
That vengeance which the Lord will wreak
Upon the souls condemn'd?
The dread variety of pains
Apportion'd to their thousand stains?
The torments singly to each soul
Strictly awarded, one by one,
According to what each has done?
The horror of the whole?

The fiery storm, the frozen blast;
The darkness thickly spread;
The shrieks of anguish rolling past;
The stench, as of the dead;
The pressure close, the stifling breath;
The sense of everlasting death;
The Hellish crew, the spectres dim;
The fear, the thirst unquenchable;—
All these with bitter torments fill
Their chalice to the brim.

So widely stretch, so deep descend,
The murky vales below;
In such immensity extend
Those tracts of dismal woe;
That earth, and all its realms contain,
With Hell would be compar'd in vain;
Nay, all comparison is naught;
Of earth we speak from what we see;
But Hell is utter mystery,
Exceeding sense and thought.

So, too, the bliss of Saints on high,
The joys that Angels feel,
The glory of the Deity,
No tongue of man can tell:
There, safe from all that breeds annoy,
Thou shalt eternal God enjoy;
There all things in His brightness see;
There nimbly rove in liquid light,
Replete with love and grace and might,
In perfect liberty.

There shalt thou of thy Maker's face
Enjoy the vision blest;
There in His infinite embrace
Be of all good possess'd.
O bliss extreme! which hath no close,
No bitter separation knows,
To which no ill can entrance find;
Where, from without as from within,
No grief can come, no fear, no sin,
To terrify the mind.

There glide the Seraphs to and fro,
With faces bright and fair;
There rivers of Elysium flow;
Death is a stranger there;
Its very memory is forgot
As though it had existed not;
There at the fount of termless bliss
The soul enamour'd laps her fill,
Slaking her thirst unquenchable,
And bathes in joy's abyss.

No ear hath heard, no eye can see,
No heart can comprehend,
That exquisite felicity
Of glory without end,
Which they enjoy, to whom 'tis given
Always to see their God in Heaven;
He only measures it aright,
Who, seated with the Saints elect,
Feels in himself the full effect
Of that supreme delight.

T HUS warn'd of guilt's eternal doom,
As of the blest reward
Awaiting in the life to come
The servants of the Lord;
Knowing the sinner's evil fate,
Knowing the saint's delightsome state,
Let us a prudent course begin,
And choose the safer, better way,
Those years bewailing day by day
That we have spent in sin.

Nor let us live, as lives the brute,
Immers'd in things below,
Lest found at death devoid of fruit
We pass to endless woe;
But let us now, while yet we may,
For our much needed pardon pray;
And think on our dear Saviour's love,
And meditate His death divine;
So but He may our hearts incline
To higher things above.

See how the world before our eyes
Is speeding to decay!
See how its painted vanities
Are withering fast away!
How into dark and darker shades
Its evanescent glory fades!
Glory which drowns the soul in Hell!
Ah, then, take we with Heav'n our part;
And on its glory in our heart
Of hearts for ever dwell!

So, when we must from hence away,
May we depart resign'd;
And, changing night for endless day,
In God our glory find;
That God in whom all glory ends;
In Him begins, from Him descends;
To whom alone all glory be,
All adoration, blessing, love,
From all below and all above,
Through all eternity.