Classic Poem

The glorious luminaries on high
Which gild so well the vaulted sky
Shine brighter some, and some more faint—
Just so it is with yonder saint.

It's so repugnant to be told
That all is dross, or all is gold,
Is equal fine, or equal coarse,
Or all but just above remorse.

The shining orbs of yonder sky,
Which roll so bright their lucid way,
Are but the semblance of the saint,
Though all their lustre is but faint.

Now are they all variety,
And all creation which we see;
And is the noble soul alone,
Now all made up of the same tome!

How far repugnant to our mind,
While there's such strength'ning facts combin'd,
To prove the contrary true:
Methinks the doctrine can't be new.

But settled as the solid poles,
Or as the wheel of nature rolls,
All verging to one glorious point
To bring the Christian more delight.

Many of them which sleep in dust
Shall rise in judgment, sure they must;
Some then will rise to endless life
And fight no more, but end all strife.

Some will come forth to endless shame—
Come forth to bear a load of pain:
Immortal too! What, live forever!
And no release, no, never, never!

O how the judgment day will sound!
And call them up from under ground!
Then to receive a dreadful fate,
Of horror sore, or glory great.

Some then will shine like th' firmament,
And some like stars, or more intent,
Their lustre bright as noon-day sun!
When their probation state is done.