LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. i^a|i. iojt^ngy:]^^ Shelf -aC>-55"£1 G L^^a. UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. J THE END OF TIME A POEM OF THE FUTURE L. G. BARBOUR, D.D. G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS ^^' NEW YORK LONDON 87 West Twenty-third St. 24 Bedford St., Strand / STj^e Knickerbocker |)rcss / ■^ / J yy 1892 M Copyright, 1893 BY L. G. BARBOUR (All Rights Reserved) Electrotyped, Printed, and Bound by Ube Iftnlcftecbocfter Ipress, mew Korh G. P. Putnam's Sons THE END OF TIME THE END OF TIME. PROEM. Sce;ne; : Heaven. ANGEI^. Still winging on our endless flight, From the great, silent Past we come ; And age on age hath sunk in night, Since first we knew Thee, God our Home. Sweeter, than in those earliest hoturs. Each voice attuned Thy praise to sing ; And mightier every angel wing, Than when it tried its new-fledged powers. Ages on ages countless lie Before our view, and we shall gain A stronger arm, a keener eye, A holier love, while Thou shalt reign. Th' impetuous winds sublimely sweep Across the pathless waste of Ocean ; And traverse we without emotion Our broader sea, our shoreless deep ? THE END OF TIME. 't is a vast, unspoken bliss To struggle up with strong endeavor ; As cycles close, to feel but this — Tbat we are nearer Thee than ever ; To mount to regions all untrod, Higher and higher yet to press ; And then with veiled face confess, That Thou art still the Unknown God. 1 saw from out a boundless sea A fairy island rise, O'erspread with beauty's mystery, O'erhung with loveliest skies. It rose from out the vasty sea With a sweet and musical sound Of waters rippling cheerily. As they girdled the beach around. Straightway leaped up the smiling hills With a sudden and playful bound, And from the heights the gurgling rills Came forth to bless the ground ; Came forth to bless the valleys green, And the forests so bravely clad ; God looked from heaven upon the scene, And the Maker's heart was glad. THE END OF TIME. 3 O might it be my joy again To trace the flowery glade, To wander up the leafy glen, And watch the bright cascade ; To bend o'er cataracts wild and hoary, Dashing to earth in spray, And mountain tops in solemn glory, So pure and so still alway ; To see the golden light of even Stream on the grassy dell. And think, * ' O were it not for heaven. How sweet on earth to dwell ! ' ' . MICHAEI,. God of all wisdom and power, my fortress, my shield, and my buckler, Cover my head in the thick of the fight, in the fore-front of battle. Swear I by Thee, O Eternal, that art, and that wast, and that shalt be. Swear only Thou by Thy life, — I live, I live, saith Jehovah. Forth from its scabbard my good sword leaps, when I think of the Dragon, Satan, the chief of Thy foes, the maligner of God and His angels. 4 THE END OF TIME. Down in his sulphurous bed, he stirred up the fires of Evil, Far underneath the beautiful isle, the isle of the blue wave. Upward the flames of hell came bursting through valley and mountain, — Bursting and rending their way, and heaping up chaos on chaos, — Seething the founts, and the limpid streams, and the lakes into frenzy ; So that the waters that fondly embraced the island, now maddened. Rushed on the shore, as if to engulf it, and finish the ruin ; While as the winds that erst had breathed o'er the valleys so softly, — Fearing to wake the leaves, and the flowerets out of their slumber, — Shuddered, and shrilled, and shrieked o'er the deep-toned roar of the billows. Far overhead the heavens grew black, and the Night was upon us, — Night on the beautiful island. Night on the sor- rowing Angels. GABRIE)!,. I/)rd of all grandeur and glory, so loving, so gra- cious, so tender, THE END OF TIME. 5 Down from the loftiest height of Thy heaven there fell on the island lyight of Thy light, and began its long, long struggle with darkness ; Day-spring that, dim at the first, yet ever grew brighter and brighter. Stronger and stronger it grew, till it drave out the horrible blackness. Hushed was the tempest's roar, and stilled was the rage of the ocean. I^ittle by little the grass came forth and the timid young flowers. I^ittle by little the forests again clothed valleys and hill-tops. Now, though the beautiful isle could nevermore be what it had been, — Fearfully scarred as it was, and torn and rent into gorges,— Yet by Thy wonderful working the mountains rose nearer to heaven ; Deeper the depth of the lakes, and sweeter the founts and the streamlets ; Fairer the winsome flowers that blushed on the dales and the hill-sides. Hid themselves in the gorges, and peeped from under the snow-drifts, Greeting the joy of the sunlight, and bathed in its roseate splendor. 6 THE END OF TIME. Solemn and grand was the voice of the winds as they chanted through pine groves, — Solemn and grand in its strength, but plaintive and sad in its weakness, Moving the hearer to tears by its piteous wail, and its sighing, — Wail, that changed to rejoicing, and sighing to jubilant triumph. Such was the beautiful island ; we wait to see what it shall be. "Why, Almighty, does yonder isle, afar on the ocean Pour out fire and smoke evermore from infernal abysses ? Why do the winds yet rave ? Why do the billows still thunder Curses upon the blackening shore, aye, curses forever ? Day is thine, and the Night is thine, the Light and the Darkness Both of them publish thy praise, and both of them tell of thy glory. T)2ij unto Day utters speech, and Night unto Night showeth knowledge ; Day, when the sun goeth forth like a bridegroom out of his chamber ; THE END OF TIME. 7 Night with its nebulous heights, and its fathom- less depths so appalling. Sweet is Thy goodness, O L,ord our God, and fear- ful Thy justice ; God, our strength and our song ; O God the joy of our gladness. ALL ANGELS. Thou art our strength and our song, and Thou art the joy of our gladness. SOULS UNDER THE ALTAR. How long, O lyord, how long, Thou true and just, Thy vengeance lingers, nor fulfils Thy word ! Thy Martyrs' blood still cries from out the dust, How long, O I]() THE END OF TIME. Half a millennium sweeps across the stage, And David comes, sweet lyrist of his race ; And with his psaltery and tuneful voice He tells us of a Prince above all Kings, More beautiful than all the sons of men. Gracious in speech, his sword upon his thigh, Riding before his hosts in majesty ; His throne, the everlasting throne of God, Himself the God whose throne endures for aye. Meanwhile the joyful noise of ten-stringed harps Breaks into wails, the voice is drowned in sobs. Three centuries again, and now a bard, Rapt with the visions of the future age, Sings of the Wonderful, the Counsellor, The Mighty God, the gentle Prince of Peace, The everlasting Father, yet a child Born of a virgin, to dominion born. Of tender soul to comfort all that mourn. To bless the meek, to bind the broken heart. A shout of joy comes thrilling from the lyre ; Anon, how changed, how plaintive are the strains ! His hero hath no form nor comeliness ; A man of sorrows, and acquaint with grief ; Oppressed, aflSicted, opening not his mouth ; Bearing the sins of many, smitten, slain. THE END OF TIME. 77 Two centuries elapse. A statesman-seer Foretells the death of God's anointed One ; He is a Prince, yet shall he be cut oflF ; The time, a half millennium away. And, last of all the prophets of old time, One looks far down the flight of troublous years, And sees a Ruler, stern and dread, arise. Whose coming wicked men shall ill abide. And then the voice of prophecy is hushed Four centuries ; and when 't is heard again, It rings from out Judea's wilderness, And says, Behold ! the promised Christ is come ! Ask ye the reason of this long delay ? O short-lived man, with God a thousand years Are as a single day. The pendulum That swingeth in Eternity's great clock Beats once a century. The earth whereon We stand, was made in weary lengths of time, — Weary to us, but not to God most High. None of these prophets, if he knew not all That was to be revealed in distant times, Could know the meaning of the words he spake In their fiiU import, nor prepare the way For words of others that should follow him. Nor could he learn from those, who went before, Precisely what addition he should make. Unless he knew the final unity. In which all prophecy should culminate. There must have been some Mind Superior 78 THE END OF TIME. That guided, governed, and directed all. For look ! wliat elements incongruous Must need be blended in that unity ! The Jews themselves conceived that there must be Two Christs : — one lowly, one of royal rank ; One gentle, merciful and sad of mien, One that should smite his foes with iron rod, And when his arm had won the victory, His robes should smell of cassia and of myrrh. Out of the ivory palaces brought forth, That he might wed the daughter of a king Clad in wrought gold and rare embroidery. And would combined impostors e'er have dared To introduce so variant accounts ? Characteristics that seem all at war One with another ? Is collusion here ? And would a skilful writer contradict Not only his confederates, but himself? SBYMOUR. Might not the Galilean fishermen Have joined together to concoct a fraud ? WAI^TON. Could those unlettered men who spent their youth In fishing in that lake of Galilee, Have woven such discordant elements THE END OF TIME. 79 Into that glorious unit)', the Christ ? They hoped that One should rise to set them free From the accursed yoke of pagan Rome ; Ascend the throne where David sat of old, And bring again the glory of their past. But when the son of Mary pre-announced His fearful suflFerings and bloody death, It shocked their souls. The)'- knew not what he said. They could not have invented scenes wherein The Godhead and the Manhood jointly worked, Each doing what His several nature should ; The twain in one grand personage conjoined, But never once commingled or confused. Just as we see on Ocean's farthest verge Heaven stoop to Earth, yet Heaven is always Heaven ; Earth lift itself to meet the bending sky, Yet Earth, though glorified, is always Earth. In this strange historj^ Eternity And Time together sit with clasped hands ; Two sisters they, that look so lovingly Into each other's eyes, and inmost hearts, And whisper of the deepest things of God. Ah ! wondrous Christ, thou wast so strong, so weak. Before all worlds, yet bom but 5'esterday, Doing a work that none but God could do, Dying a death that none but man could die ; 8o THE END OF TIME. Hating all sin, yet loving them who sinned ; With eyes that never sleep, yet slumbering In thy fond mother's arms, or in a boat Rocked by the tempest of Gennesaret ; Highest and lowliest of all that are. Pure as the snow upon Sorata's heights, Yet guilty woman, shrinking from all else, Crept to thy feet and bathed them with her tears. Could Galilean peasants have gone back Into the dim traditions of their race, And gathered up conceptions so apart, Scattered along through forty centuries. Shreds variant, discordant, as it seemed. And woven a transcendent unity. Wherein the very points which they had deemed, And all mankind would deem, as well as they, Irreconcilable and opposite. Were found to be most indispensable To the complete perfection of the whole ? Not one could be omitted from the list, Howe'er discordant it appeared at first. Could they have so portrayed this character, That all the extremes which in His being met. Were needed for the likeness which they limned, — Were needed for the work He came to do ? THE END OF TIME. 8 1 But more, th' Evangelists could not select Such features from the writings of old time As they could fashion at their own mere will. They must take all, each trait, each circum- stance, Each thought, or plainly set in view, or veiled ; Often not understood until th' event Threw back a light on what before was dark. SEYMOUR. If I could but believe there was a God, And that He ever stooped to dwell on earth, Surely this Christ whom you extol was He. BEI^MONT. O shallow thinker ! Is there not a God ? And does He not from age to age evolve His hidden pow'rs, His latent energies ? From germ to plant, to leaf, to flower, to fruit, — This is the law of His development. And so, germ, plant, leaf, flower, foretell the fruit. Full many a fruit the kindly earth brings forth ; And many a man hath been indwelt of God. Such was, mayhap, this Jew of Nazareth, — Greatest of all, as I have sometimes thought. 82 THE END OF TIME. SEJYMOUR. I cannot understand thee, noble chief. But tell me, Walton, something of the Jew, The Man who trod this wretched world of ours, And wildly claimed to be Almighty God. Was he what his disciples said he was ? I mean not God. What was he as a man ? Thou know'st how hero-worship often dreams, And gilds the idol which it bows before. Imagination ' ' gives to airy nothing A local habitation and a name." WAIvTON. A just analysis has ever shown That they who in the drama have excelled, Or in the general poetic art, Have always done it by their insight keen Into the human heart. It is beyond Man's power to create. That work is God's. And thus our William Shakspeare was a seer, Who held that all the world was but a stage, Where kings and clowns, where knaves and motley fools All had their exits and their entrances ; While he looked on, and noted what he saw, And through the gorgeous robes of kings and queens. As well as through the rags of simpering fools, THE END OF TIME. 83 Beheld the palpitating heart of man. Then from the gamer of his varied lore Took here and there a trait that served him best, And of these elements, combined anew, Made Hamlets, Lears, Othellos, or Macbeths. The combination was to some extent The poet's own. Not so the elements. Now take that book which on the table lies, One character appears, pre-eminent Above the rest ; and, I had almost said, But one appears, — majestic, beautiful, Now seen more dimly, now more clearly shown. Fairer than all earth's fairest is the Christ, Gentler than gentlest, greater than the great. I asked whence came these gracious lineaments, Found nowhere else but on this spotless page ? The separate elements are not of earth ; Each single tint is borrowed from the sky ; And 't is no earth-born genius that has wrought Into one Christ the manifold details. Now that full thirty centuries have passed, Since He ascended from Mount Olivet, And went to sit at God's right hand in heaven, All men admit He is above us still. In Him are heights the loftiest cannot reach. Since His appearance on this stage of ours. The nobliest men are all dissatisfied With any less ideal. Far too low Seems anything that is beneath the Christ ; 84 THE END OF TIME, And when they hope for heaven, they hope to wake In His blest Hkeness after death's short sleep. This may seem strange, but stranger is the love. They bear to Him who died so long ago. Now I bethink me how Napoleon Mused on the ruin of his house and throne, Imprisoned on St. Helena's bare rock, 'Gainst which th' Atlantic's waves with restless surge,— Image of his great spirit, — chafed in vain. (Reads from a ms.) My clarions long have hushed their cry, My eagles droop o'er land, o'er sea ; And on this lonely isle I die. My France, afar from thee. On Fame's colossal temple-door High shall my name engraven be ; And yet I pine for something more. Far more, my France, from thee. Of tender sympathy, a touch ; A sigh when men shall speak of me, A thought, a tear, — are these too much. My France, to ask of thee? THE END OF TIME. 8$ Too much, alas ! My sceptre flown, And disentlironed n y dynasty, With sorrow and with pain I own, France, thou art dead to me. Spirits that in the past held sway. My lot with yours must be the same, To conquer, dazzle for a day. And leave behind — a name ! One sole exception we confess, A man from human frailty free ; A God, for He can be no less, — Th' Incarnate Mystery. Him, as the ages onward sweep, Shall greater multitudes adore ; And men shall hear His name and weep. When we are loved no more. Then was there silence for a moment's space, Till Seymour : " I am ready to admit, 'T is a subhme conception that of One Combining in himself the twofold might, Nature and gracefulness of God and man. Save in the dreams of man, there is no God ; But the conception lives, and never dies. It runneth through the web of poesy, I^ike a pure thread of gold through coarser stuflf. 6 86 THE END OF TIME. It archeth o'er us like the firmament, Whicli by illusion seemeth spherical. There is no vault of heaven. 'T is vapor, air ; Yet thitherward the loftiest mountains rise. So God is not, yet toward Him aspire Whoso are greatest or in word, or deed. Men do great actions in the name of God. I cannot solve this riddle. 'T is a spell, A word of mystery, of fear, of hope. And never on a banner is it writ. But some are found to gather 'neath its folds." BEI/MONT. A spell ? Ah, better say a talisman. Graved on the universe, which evermore Whispers to man the Name ineffable. Few there may be, that have the hearing ear ; But they are with divinest frenzy filled. This we name Genius, whether it be shown In statesmanship, or in the art of war, Science, philosophy, or poetry. In the first two, almost all men adore The revelation of the Infinite In the two following, some worshippers, — Perhaps I might say many, — wait and kneel. But in the last, the vast majoritj' Say, as they turn away, The poet raves. And yet the sacred fire goes not out THE END OF TIME. 87 Upon the mystic altar. Flamens quaint, In long succession through the centuries, Stand in the chancel and supply the flame, Which throws a ruddy and uncertain light On them who prostrate 'mid the shadows bow. SEYMOUR. I lay no claim to comprehend our chief, Whose words of wisdom gloom upon our minds. A thousand years ago Napoleon Uttered some thoughts like those which Walton gave. Who could have dreamed that he, that cruel man, Cruel though great, so longed for human love ? Here am I, Seymour, in this pleasant war ; Men smile upon me when they see me pass ; And women, knowing what I am full well, Say with sweet voices, ' ' Gayest of the brave Our Seymour is, and bravest of the gay." Doth any love me ? Not one soul of man ! And in my hours of sadness I exclaim. Ah ! woe is me that ever I was born ! What spell has fall'n upon us here to-night, That we unbosom thus our inmost selves ? None loveth me to-day on all the earth ; Yet I remember one that loved me well ; Who gave me birth, who held me in her arms, Clung 'round my neck when I set forth from home, 88 THE END OF TIME. But slumbers now beneatli tiie dewy sod. Ah ! eyes of blue, when I behold your light Beaming upon me through the thickening cloud Of folly, sorrow, passion, and remorse, I seem to lie once more upon the heights O'erlooking Como's broadly placid wave, And see all heaven asleep within its depths. Yes, if there were a heaven, it would be glassed In those sweet eyes that ever follow me. look not thus upon me, from the past, Ye haunting eyes, for ye are of the dead. Close your soft lids, and sink to sleep again, For ye are but the loveliest of dreams. And heaven itself a dream within a dream. BELMONT. Now speakest thou more nobly than thy wont. 1 like thee well, fair youth, with all thy faults. In this dead heart of mine, if love still lived, Know that a bounteous share thereof were thine. With all thy gayety thou hast thine hours Of sadness. Oh, had I one hour of joy, One Faust-like moment I should wish prolonged ! SEYMOUR. Thou art too sad, great chief. If such thy woe, Thou needst this jewelled poniard more than I. THE END OF TIME. 89 (He unsheathes the weapon, and holds it toward Belmont J See, on this golden handle, amethysts Set round with pearls ; and on the topmost one Largest of all, graven in monograms, Her name entwined with mine, ah ! woe is me ! For each to each we gave a solemn pledge, That by this selfsame dagger both would die. But, best of all, this keen and glittering blade. Straight as the line that shortest distance spans ; No crooked scimitar to hack and hew. Study anatom)% like Castlereagh ; Find out just where carotid arteries lie, And having learned thy lesson, — then strike home ! BELMONT, smiling. Avaimt thee, Satan ! [Faded then the smile As fades the glor>^ of the t^viUght sky. When gold and purple change to steely gray.] My father died ere I beheld the light ; My mother when I was a tiny lad. I just remember how she lay so pale. When by her couch I stood to see her die. Scant love had I in all my boyhood's years, But in my early manhood there was one, Who loved me truly. She became my wife, 90 THE END OF TIME. And bore a son, my Kmest. Both are gone. No winsome eyes look on me from the past ; But some that hollow are, from cheeks all gaunt, Look past me with a fixed and fiightftil stare, As they were gazing down eternity. Then blame me not, my Seymour, if I say, Saddest is wisest, wisest is most sad. Walton, thou boldest that the Deity Came down from heaven to dwell upon the earth. This I admit is true. So Vishnu came. As is related in the Hindoo books. So too in classical mythology Jupiter, Jimo, Venus, and the rest. WAI^TON. Yes, I have read of Vishnu's Avatars. Think how he came, first in the form of fish. Next tortoise, bear, half-man, half-lion then ; Such thoughts as these degrade the worshipper. But He, who came to us from highest heaven, So spake and acted that in Him was seen The glory of the only Son of God. And on what trivial errands Vishnu came ! To conquer giants ! No exalted work Such as a God might wisely stoop to do. SEYMOUR. Just there, — I recollect what Horace says, A deity shotdd never intervene THE END OF TIME. 9 1 Without a knot that man could not untie. What was the work this Christ came down to do? Was 't something greater than our chiefest men Have dared or done ? Was it some better thing Than kindly human hearts have sought t' achieve ? WALTON. It was a twofold scheme, that brought the Prince Of Glor}" down from highest heaven to earth. The first had special reference to Time, And had in view the history of the world. A personage appeared in Paradise, Called God at first, — the great Creator's name, — And then Jehovah God, th' Eternal one. He gave the promise of the Christ to come ; Appeared to patriarchs in their humble tents, To Moses in the desert's burning bush, Again on Sinai 'mid the fire and smoke. With lightnings, thunders, and a trumpet's voice Exceeding loud, — so terrible it was. The hearers quaked and trembled at the sound. So dread the sight, that Moses feared and quaked. This wondrous Being gave His law to man Out of the darkness of that blazing mount ; Then went before the Hebrews on their march, A cloud by day, a flame of fire by night ; 92 THE END OF TIME. Glowed in the tabernacle's holiest place, Glowed in the temple o'er the mercy seat ; Appeared from time to time to sundry men ; Made claim to be the God of Israel, With special favor unto Abraham's seed ; But more than this, — claimed to be God most High, And said that He Himself would be the Christ ; Yea, that He was the Christ through all these years. But after lapse of forty centuries He would appear on earth in human form, Bom of a Virgin, and would work a change In the dominion He had held so long. Its narrow stream should widen to a flood, The sway enlarge till it embraced the world. An empire that should last till time should end, Save just before the end, a little while, The powers of darkness should rise up afresh, And make revolt against th' Anointed One. In fulness of the times, as long foretold, A Jew arose, of David's royal race, In Bethlehem bom, but reared in Nazareth, Who said He was the Christ, the Son of God ; That He had come to execute this plan ; That He would win all nations to himself ; That to this end, all power in heaven and earth Was given Him, a kingdom spiritual, Co-eval with, above, and over all THE END OF TIME. 93 The kingdoms of the earth. Such was the height, To which this lowly Nazarene aspired. 'T was an idea far beyond his age. Not of this world, that holy kingdom was. But in the hearts of men. Its glorious aim Was to restore God's image to the soul, Rescue a race, regenerate mankind, Perpetuate among the nations peace And give to wretched man a life divine, Which, springing not from out the hidden depths Of his own nature, comes to him from Heaven, And shows its power in justice, truth, and love. Was not this work one worthy of a God ? After His resurrection from the dead, The Christ-Man stood upon a mountain-top. Together with a handful of His friends, And bade them go and conquer all the earth ; And, what no other conqueror ever did. Gave them this pledge and promise of success, " I/) ! I am with you till the world shall end." This was sheer madness, or it was divine. Augustus Caesar, in whose gorgeous reign The human Christ was born in Bethlehem, Never conceived a ptupose half so grand. And was it not effected wondrously ? Where is the Roman Empire in our day ? It was a bold prediction on the part 94 THE END OF TIME. Of Jesus, that His kingdom should endure When Caesar's throne had crumbled. Yet 't was true. Where are the Antonines ? Where Constantine Who bound two empires with an iron band, lyinking the Bast to th' West ? And where is he, Great Theodosius, Emperor of the East, Who with his bristling bulwark of brave men Guarded the western throne, and stayed the hordes Setting upon it from the savage North ? Alaric's teacher in the art of war, He trained the future conqueror of Rome. The seven-hilled city, trodden under heel, Never regained her proud pre-eminence. And where is Charlemagne, the Frank's stem king. Who by his prowess and sagacity Rose to the throne as Emperor of the West ? Where now his weak successors ? Otho, too. The German who aspired to follow him ? Their names survive; their empires are dis- solved. The kingdom of the Christ stood strong through all, Stood many centuries, and stronger grew, And overcame its most inveterate foes ; Drove out all idols and all fetishes, O'erthrew Confucius, Brahm, Mohammed, Budh, THE END OF TIME. 95 All hoary systems, all philosophies, And flourished on the earth a thousand years. SEYMOUR. I grant the doctrine of the Nazarene Of all the superstitions was the best, That it should triumph o'er idolatry And hideous serpent- worship, was but right. But we are in a later time. The torch, Held by the Jew, has lit the way to truth. We take the true ; the false we throw away ; And most of all, reject belief in God. As soon believe in ghosts, ' ' chimeras dire, ' ' And goblins which aflfright the little child. Yes, in the morning of the human race A God hung o'er us, as an earty mist, Vague, beautiful, hangs o'er the sleeping world. The sun shines forth ; the fog is lifted up From lowly vales, but lingers on the heights That overlook the river's winding way. The long, gray fringes, soft and delicate, Trail o'er the forest's green anear the sky. But day advances, and the morning mist Is gone, and all things now are bright and clear. BELMONT. What is the mist ? A vapor that we see ; But vapor always dwells amid the air, 96 THE END OF TIME. Mostly unseen. Sometimes it gathers dense, And shows itself on vale or mountain top ; Anon it floateth as a cloud in heaven. So this belief in God exists for aye, Never quite absent from the hearts of men, Sometimes it seizes on the vulgar mind, And works a reformation or crusade. Yet oftener it hovers 'round the heights Of Socrates, of Plato, or of Christ, — Or, in some Mystic, hath no touch of earth, 'T were an ill thing to banish from the air All healthful vapor ; and it were a worse To drive from this our world beUef in God. Walton, if thou hast more to say, say on. WAI^TON. The second part of this great scheme refers Unto Eternity, whose dazzling lights The Gospel like a broad reflector throws Athwart our pathway in this mortal state ; Supernal brilliancy of highest Heaven, Intense, refulgent, brighter than all hope ; While in its shadow more than man can fear Of darkness is concentred. This is Hell, Whose sombre pall covers and hides from view More than Earth's utmost anguish and despair. He, whom you name the Jew, the Nazarene, Says that He came to rescue wretched man THE END OF TIME. 97 From ruin darker than a felon's doom, More terrible than groans of wounded men, Or shrieks of women bending o'er the slain ; A ruin ending not with earth's brief years, But stretching on and on forevermore. This is the work that Christ came down to do. Its grandeur overpowers the mind of man. It reaches back far, far beyond the time When man first stood upon the smiling earth ; Beyond the geologic eras vast. Whose slow succession dragged their weary length ; Beyond what time the worlds came bounding forth, Fleet-footed coursers of the trackless void, Or launched like mighty steamers on the deep. Aglow with inward fires whose billowy smoke Streamed darkly on their path through boundless space ; Beyond what time the first-born Sons of God, The principalities and powers of heaven. Flashed forth like lightning into glittering ranks. With primal splendor startling ancient Night, And Silence with their first melodious songs ; Before all things save God Himself alone. This comprehensive plan lay in His thought. As the Eternal mused upon His works, And brooded on the universe to be. It reaches onward into endless years, And lifts a countless multitude to heaven, 98 THE END OF TIME. To endless life, and holiness, and bliss. The Christ shall gather into one abode The good of all the ages. There shall be No sin nor shame in all that happy world ; No grave shall lift its long and narrow mound. Nor yawn with sunken and insatiate jaws ; Nor night be there, nor danger to affright. Nor tear, nor cry to mar the perfect peace ; Forebodings none, nor disappointment's blight. Nor falsehood's smile, nor treachery, nor hate. There shall be changeless love in all that realm, Fond hearts that never, never shall grow cold, Kach loving all the rest, all loving each, And all forever full of holy joy. So that the Christ shall come again from heaven, And make His dwelling with the sons of men. And they shall reign with Him forevermore. O Heaven, how sweet thy name. On dying men Thy prospect, lovelier than childhood's dreams, Dawns like the Day. Thy softened splendors fall On trees and flowers, on gently rolling streams, And glorify the faces of the saved. Was not this work, too, worthy of a God ? se;ymour. Now, as I live, I would this might be true. It is a very lovely dream ; no more, — Klse 't would redeem this empty life of ours From being what it is, a tedious farce. THE END OF TIME. 99 BEI^MONT. No ! not a farce. Better a tragedy- Deep in its plot and various, subtle, fierce. I long for the denouement, good or ill ; But that, I judge, is far from this our day. Walton, there is one failing in thy Christ ; At the approach of death he shrank and quailed, Methinks a man in whom the godhood dwelt So largely, as, thou say'st, it dwelt in him, Would never falter. Women have been thrown Into th' arena where the lions roared Waiting their prey, and not a sigh escaped The fair young lips. No fear was in their hearts Of flaming eyes, or claws, or bloody fangs Of beasts about to tear them limb from limb. WAIvTON. There was no tremor in the heart of Christ In view of Roman swords, or spikes, or cross ; But the dread wrath of God because of sin. That He should bear upon th' accursed tree, O'erpowered His soul with sorrow unto death. More bitter was the cup of which He drank, Than all the bitterness of earthly draughts, Something we know not — may we never know — Something mysterious confronted Him, And His heart trembled, for He was a man. Take now Prometheus of the Grecian stage, lOO THE END OF TIME. Chained to a rock by Jupiter's command, On a projecting crag of Caucasus. Tlie fervid sun upon him beats by day, The biting frost congeals his limbs by night. Unborn the man whose hand shall set him free. A moan escapes him. " Woe is me," he saith ; Yet he continues proudly to rebel. When Mercury, the messenger of Jove, Threatens a triple vengeance on his head, — Fierce thunder, winged with the lightning's flames, Shall rend the rock, with ruin cover him ; When he at last shall be dragged forth to light, The ravening eagle shall upon him feed, Plunging his beak into his tenderest flesh, — Prometheus disdains the tyrant's threats, And scorns the utmost vengeance of the god. Plainly the Poet understands his theme. Prometheus is a pagan deity, Companion of the gods, a demigod. Weaker than Jove, but stronger much than man ; And far removed above our sympathies. Just as, 't is said, an ancient Russian Czar Had his equestrian statue carved of stone, Horse, rider, pedestal of one huge rock, A granite boulder, man and base alike, That awed and chilled but could not win the heart. Ah ! it was necessary that the Christ THE END OF TIME. lOI Should in one Person be both God and Man. And thus His struggles in Gethsemane, And His sharp cries while on the bitter cross Disclosed the weakness of a human heart. This is a touch beyond the utmost art Of Galilean peasants. Look you now At William Shakspeare how he paints Macbeth. He hesitates about that deed of blood ; Advances, halts, his conscience cries, " O stay ! " Ambition says ' ' Go on ! " he strikes the blow ; Then, in that hour of darkness and of dread, He trembles when one knocketh at his door. But who of all earth's limners could portray Almighty God and trembling man in one ? And what impostor could have e'er devised That scene amid the shades of Olivet, Or that upon the height of Calvary ? Or would have dared employ them, if he could ? They are beyond all human authors' reach. No ! here we see the hand of God Himself. Those awful cries ring through the centuries, And men who hear them beat upon their breasts. And now, those cries resounding in my ears, Can I continue in this godless war ? Belmont, my high commission I resign ; (He lays a paper on the table.) I cannot fight against the Christ of God. 102 THE END OF TIME. Now a dead silence fell upon tlie group, And nought was heard except the soughing wind, And the great banner flapping overhead. Then Walton raised his eyes to heaven and said : Sacred breast for me so riven. Hands and feet all pierced and torn ! Is it Thou, the Lord of Heaven, On this bloody cross upborne ? Pale thy cheek, thy forehead gory, Motionless in death thine eye ! Brightness of the Father's glory, Hast Thou stooped, for me to die ? Grace beyond my sins abounding, Nameless pity, strong and deep ! When I view this scene astounding, I can only kneel and weep. While the tears my eyes are blinding, To Thy feet my lips I press ; Peace and pardon strangely finding, Through my Saviour's sore distress. There was another pause. Then Seymour said : "Alas ! poor Walton, for thou art but crazed, To sorrow thus about thy Nazarene, Who has been dead for thrice ten centuries. Ah ! woe is me, full many a bitter cry THE END OF TIME. 103 Comes from the dreadful past ; — will not be hushed, But echoes through the chambers of the brain. Chiefly at midnight when all other sotmds Are stilled. At such an hour one comes to me. I hear it now ! Silence, accursed wail ! (He starts up, and clutches the jewelled dagger.) ** Did ye not hear it ? No ? Was 't but the wind ? (He sinks back into his chair.) ** YeSj't was the wind. And she is dead, — is dead!" WAIvTON. The dead still live. SEYMOUR. Still live ? Oh, craze me not ! Tell me not, Walton, that the dead still live. Out on thee, madman ! For the dead are dead. Yet look not thus upon me, eyes so dark. Out of that pale, pale face, its bloom all gone ; Or I shall madden and destroy myself. CANTO VI. Belmont. Belmont was deeply moved. He rose and trod Sternly and silently, as though he mused, From end to end of th' tent. Then at the door Stopped for a moment, lookmg at the sky ; Stepped forth with face upturned ; came back and said : " A storm is rising ; stretch at once o'erhead The cover of the tent. Enlarge the trench. The upper deep is flecked with snowy sails Of a vast cloud-fleet scudding with the breeze. Near th' horizon, mounting momently Toward the zenith, crowds on crowds appear Of black- winged squadrons that infest the air. And wage on high a nobler strife than ours. I see the flash of heaven's artillery ; And hark ! its thunders swell upon the ear, Sweeter than music o'er the nightly wave. I would I were the lightning's subtle flame. Ethereal essence of the godlike fire ! How would I leave afar the haunts of men To weave about each loftiest mountain-top 104 THE END OF TIME. lOj A glittering diadem ; to smite the oak, And hurl it crashing to the trembling ground ; Or, robed in clouds, to wing my distant flight To the remotest corners of the main, Whose waters never have been cleft by keel ; There, marching on the furious blast by night. To gleam along the billows far and wide With a terrific splendor, and send forth My train of thunders roaring o'er the waste. Ah ! that were life ; but this our dull routine Of daily drill in arms, and evening sports. Is bare existence. O for battle's joy ! Had I but had my way, I should have crushed This puny, egg-shell city long ago. ' ' WAXTON. Tell me, Belmont, what scheme thy mind has formed In reference to this great universe. BEIyMONT. Hear, Soldiers, one and all. Whatever is, was from eternity ; But 't was not in the forms we now behold. There was a time, — if time it may be called, — When there was nought save Matter, Space, and God. No worlds were floating in immensity ; I06 THE END OF TIME. There were no angels, and no souls of men. Then God was one, — as He is now, in truth ; Then God was great, as He shall ever be ; In nature one, of substance uniform ; Not matter ; call Him Spirit, if you like, God was not matter ; matter was not God. A nobler essence, God, — pervading space, Being, not living ; with capacity Of boundless life in His vast nature's depths ; Spirit without or feeling, thought, or will. And yet enshrining potency of all. And matter was, through space disseminate, Its particles immeasurably small, Immeasurably distant, each from each. Matter and God alike were uncreate, And both alike are indestructible. Now what is God ? Yon star, which I beheld Shining in highest heaven, a moment since, Sent me a message many years ago, Borne by the ^ther present everywhere. This ^Ether is almighty. It is God ; And the star whispered to my soul, " God is ! " This is God's substance homogeneous. 'T is this which was, and is, and is to come. No force resides in matter of itself. Save power to resist and to repel. All force attractive dwells in God alone. He is not force, but force is found in Him, All power to live, to labor, to create. THE END OF TIME. lO/ In all His works Deity immanent, Producing all efifects phenomenal. Yet matter is the Godhood's complement. He could witliout it have accomplished nought ; For 't is the stuff of which He weaves His robes. God acts on matter ; it reacts on Him. That rising wind which dashes through the trees That cro\\Ti the heights above 3'on river's brim, Sets them in motion ; branch and tung and leaf Play on the wind. All music thus is made. The ^nnd must have its harp of .^Bolus ; The harp, its \\'ind ; or all is still and dead. So, witliout matter, ,^tlier would have lain Dormant forever. Brahm would ne' er ha\^ waked Out of his slumber in the ages past. But matter was from all eternity, And ^^tlier an eternal waking knew. By His intrinsic force each particle Moved tow'rd its fellow through unnumbered years. Till all became one whole, formless and void, Vast beyond thought and yet not infinite. 'T was thus God made tlie heavens and the eartli, Ev'n as the Hebrew seer said of old. And darkness rested on the dread Abyss, That nestled under God's o'erbrooding A%'ings. Now atoms smote on atoms, and there came A tremor in the bosom of the Deep ; I08 THE END OF TIME. For God said, ' ' I^et light be " ; and lo ! light was. The thrill was fainter than our lightest thought, A glow most delicate ; yet winged its flight Throughout th' Abyss and far beyond its bounds, Widening and widening till the circling waves Died on the borders of Immensity. This was the dawn of Day, that now uprose And won a province in Night's ancient realm. It lay amid the Night, as lies a pearl Hid in the tresses of a Hindoo bride. It was a smile upon the face of God, The promise of an ecstasy to come. It was, in truth, the very Son of God, The Word revealing, and the God revealed. Or, as the Greeks would say, Minerva sprang, Goddess of wisdom, from the brain of Jove. The Godhood, like a slumberous giant, strove T' arouse Himself. His first grand struggle this, — This, His first victory ; for " Know Thyself,"— That is the wisest word a Greek e'er spoke. Toward this the Deity forever strives, And partially attains it in the Great. Prophets and Poets all have owned the flame, Artists and Sages have confessed the power. But this was later. For the first of days It was sufficient that the light arose ; That the God-heart with its first pulses throbbed And felt the joyous, vibratory thrill. For light was good. Ah me ! The light is good ! THE END OF TIME. IO9 Then came the second day, — the period When God said, " I^et there be a J&rmament Between the waters, and let it divide The waters from the waters." This was done Not once, but many times. It was the law Of the whole period. The waters are Matter existing in a vaporous state : Matter has two chief forms that strike the sense ; The solid and the fluid, land and sea ; The stationary and the movable. That early age was not so nice as ours In physical distinctions, and the Sage Called all things waters in this nascent form, — Less scientific, more poetical. More philosophical than modem phrase. Just as the brightest minds have ever sought For formulas of comprehensive grasp, Gaining in compass, range, and breadth of thought. More than is lost in accurate detail. So with the Hebrew. Now the luminous mist Obeyed attraction's and repulsion's laws. And thus was formed each island-universe Of rotatory motion ; globe-like some ; Others in spiral convolutions whirled. Fervid and glowing in the mazy dance. Ages elapsed, the process still went on ; Kach island, first removed immensely far no THE END OF TIME. From all tiie rest, in systems now divides. These in their turn revolve about themselves, And, nicely balanced, 'round a centre wheel. Take, for example, that in which we dwell. The mist became a burning-glass in shape, Revolving on its short diameter. As the huge volume small and smaller grew, The inner portions sped more rapidly. Until a ring was severed from the mass. Contracting to a globe in lapse of time. This we call Neptune. Like a sentinel. Darkly and silently he treads his round. So with the rest. Planets and asteroids Were rent by piecemeal from the shrinking mass. Waters from waters were divided thus. Now centuries on centuries go by ; Matter condenses into molten globes. Hotter than seven-times heated furnaces. Bach planet is a red and threatening star. In course of time the surfaces grow cold ; And now a fleecy covering is weaved With crimson flames that slowly pale to white. The molten mass next hardens to a sphere. Part that before had been in liquid state, Solidifies into an outer crust. Vapors that float aloft are turned to rains. And fall in showers on the parched ground ; Yet some are subtler and remain on high. Thus in its order comes the brave expanse, THE END OF TIME. Ill And heaven first spreads its dome above the earth The third day comes, and, cooling down yet more, The crust is cracked and wrinkles in ravines, Into whose depths the waters pour themselves, Dry land appears, but most in mountain-heights. The circumambient waves are called the Seas. Ocean is born, and from its glassy front Reflected gleam volcanic, dreadful flames ; And hissing on its way this bomb-shell earth Spins as it flies. Thus were the planets made. Such was the Godhood's first cyclopean life, — Blind, powerful, titanic. Now behold A higher Hfe, a new development. WAIyTON. Canst thou unfold the mystery of life ? be;i,mont. I can at least disclose my final thought. All life is motion ; not all motion, life. It is not life to whirl as planets do About their suns. Not light itself is life, Though 't is the garment of th' Invisible. The lowest form of life was in the plant. Some type of Algae, — call it Photophyte, — That grew upon the margin of the Sea. But know full well that matter never lives. 112 THE END OF TIME. Matter may move, is moved ; but life is God's. Matter was forced to take some complex form By a blind instinct of tbe deity, By fate, or, if you like, by accident ; For intellect and choice were not as yet. The organism on the ^tber then Reacted and the ^ther thrilled with life. As on the first day it had thrilled with light. First light, then life, the nobler of the twain. Thus the harsh winds, that howl about our tent, Smite on the camp, are smitten back in turn. And vent their spleen in discord loud and hoarse. But let Zephyrus breathe on Seymour's harp. And it evokes the Soul of harmony. Mayhap at first a single string responds. Yet presently another adds its note, Touched by the fingers of the breeze unseen, Till many-chorded music greets the ear. So life began upon this lifeless orb. " lyet the earth bring forth grass, herbs yielding seed, After its kind the fruit-tree bear its fruit. And it was so." Now trunk, and stem, and leaf, Flower and firuit, come dancing from the earth. For Flora, maid of beauty, waves her wand, I^ike an enchantress, o'er the island peaks, And the rich valleys swelling from the deep. Was it not so ? Do not the igneous rocks Still show the traces of the world of plants, THE END OF TIME. II3 Life's first born in their granite sepulchre ? The fourth day now, in which the satelUtes, — Moons to the planets, — take their shape and place. Planets were fashioned in the previous age. The central masses gather up their strength Into resplendent suns. These viewed from far Are stars that grace the firmament of heaven. These are for lights, signs, seasons, days, and years. The fifth day brings a higher grade of life, — The animal, the seat of thought and will, Being that tastes of pleasure and of pain. The Protozoa in the waters move, In numbers countless, — most abundantly. The Godhood first displays intelligence, Now first exhibits consciousness and choice. This life, I know not whether 't was evolved Out of that previous, lower one of plants, Or freshly rose as that had risen before. Certes the deity now struggles up From low beginnings to a higher plane. And higher yet as ages wing their flight. Matter reluctates, but the work goes on ; The Godhood yearns for ever nobler forms. Though sometimes baffled in its upward course, As mightiest rivers have their eddies too, And yet their currents broader, deeper grow. Organs unfinished in the earlier tribes Are prophecies of things which are to come. 114 THE END OF TIME. Now fishes cleave the cool refreshing seas, And the birds mount and carol in the air. Nature is vocal. In preceding days Winds through the forests moaned, and restless waves Dashed on the beach in melancholy wail. But now the eagle screams above the main, Thrushes and linnets pipe amid the groves. And tlie fond turtle to the list'ning vale Breathes the soft notes of tenderness and love. Sentient existence, conscious, blissful life, — Such is the fifth day's gift. The sixth day hears The roar of beasts, the lowing of the herds. But one step more and then the goal is reached. O Image of th' Almighty, glorious Man ! Highest development of Deitj" ; Bom to dominion, nobler than the brutes ; Able to count the worlds, to weigh the stars ; And what is greater far, to know Thyself, And thus know God, for God is one with Thee. The hour of thj^ nati^-it3' is come ; It rings upon Eternity's great bell. Walk forth on earth, and as thou viewest all. Flora and Fauna, vales and solemn woods, And snow-clad peaks, and broadlj^ rolling seas. Day's glor}-, and the quiet heaven of Night, — Saj', as thou only canst, that all is good. Thy history is God's. He finds in thee THE END OF TIME. II5 Self-consciousness. Thy strength and grace are His. In thee the deit>-'s long striving ends ; Thou livest, movest, being hast in Him. And thou, O Spirit of the universe, This, this is life, to know, to feel thy power Thrilling our heart-strings into ecstasj-. In thee we claim a kindred with the stars, With the great mountains, deserts, torrents, floods ; And as we see the hght of myriad worlds Soft glowing through the ethereal regions vast, We kneel to this Shekinah and adore. WALTON. Art thou, then, God ? BELMONT. I am a part, but not the whole of God. He is the substance that per\-adeth all The personalities that dwell on earth. I am a part of matter, not the whole ; My nervous system finer than the clod. My brain more exquisite than that of brutes ; And thus I know I am a part of God. The seventh day is not 3-et, but it shall come ; That day of rest, when Brahm shall sleep again, And souls returning imto God, who gave, Il6 THE END OF TIME. Shall find in liim their coveted repose. Evening and morning were the first of days ; Evening and mom, the second, and the rest, — Or Night and Day, as we should term them now. Night brightens into Day ; Day sinks to Night. Such is the law of things. The human frame. With the day's labor wearied, falls asleep. Earth hasher winter, and man's dozing age Slumbers in death. So with society. Nations are subject to the general law, — Are born, grow, flourish, then decay and die, If we speak truth it is not death, but sleep. Why then should Brahm not sleep ? The Hindoo Sage Felt and expressed the strong necessity. The yearning for repose in Nature's heart. When he taught Man each kalpa's rise and end. lyike a sweet floweret that folds in its leaves At night's approach, — so shall this mighty frame Reverse the process of its forming age. In all things are the elements of death. Earth's moon is dead ; its plains are deserts bare ; Its mountains girdle horrid chasms and gulfs, Scorched with the fires that died out long ago. No sprig of grass is there ; no drop of dew, No sign of life midst universal death. And earth has passed her days of hey-day youth, Rollicking springtime, rich in bud and bloom. 'Tis glorious summer now, when fruits and grains THE END OF TIME. WJ Smile o'er the fertile vales. The little hills Clap their glad hands, and shout aloud their joy. But Winter couches low at either pole, And sternly, coldly, surely bides his time. All worlds by imperceptible degrees Shall lose the morning swiftness of their course. And in one mouldering ruin disappear. Just as man's body, wasting in the tomb, Into its elements at last resolves ; So with God's body, this fair universe. Life, motion, separate being all shall cease, Light, earliest born, the last to close her eyes ; And then shall ancient Night resume her reign, And quell this rebel province to her sway. Ocean of Darkness, thou no pity hast ; Forever dashing madly on the beach, Where the far nebulae defend the coast ; Thou seekest to o'erwhelm this upstart isle, And thou shalt gain thine end, Most Terrible ! Thus dies the universe. Thou canst not die, Thou, who of old the earth's foundation laidst ; Whose hands have wrought the heavens with all their hosts. Perish all else, yet thou shalt still endure. They shall wax old, and as a garment thou Shalt change them, and thy vesture shall be changed, Thou art the same. Thy years shall have no end, Il8 THE END OF TIME. WAIvTON. And shall tlie universe awake no more From this dread death which thou hast nam 2d a sleep ? BEJI.MON'r. Saith not the Seer, "Thy vesture thou shalt change ? " The Other's power is infinite, because The Other's self extends without a bound. And stretches through th' infinitudes of space. It cannot act where it is not itself. Hence as this spacious universe contracts, The Other's power diminishes therewith. Matter repels, — ^resists the Other's force ; As this grows weak, the other stronger grows ; And so at last an equipoise is reached, — An equilibrium, and that is Death. The u^ther uses matter as a means Of acting on Itself. Force never dies. Countless vibrations have but sped abroad To heap up Force in regions far away. Kre it reflows, the stubborn energy Of matter drives the atoms all apart. Kach particle with endless being fi-aught Survives the wreck. This is the law of laws, And underlies all others. Next to this. Is the great law of change. Man wakes from sleep, THE END OF TIME. II9 And to the toil of daily life returns. Earth wakes from winter, and spring's kindly warmth Mantles her form in beauty and in bloom. This is the law of change : From death to life, From life to death again forevermore, As Ocean ebbs and flows, and flows and ebbs. So Brahma, Vishnu, Siva have their r61es, And thus they run : Create, Sustain, Destroy ; Or we may say, Uplift, Uphold, Cast down. And Brahma placed our earth in Vishnu's arms, A smiling babe, now grown to womanhood, A dream of beauty. Vishnu falls asleep, And Siva comes and strangles her to death. Then Siva slumbers, and the mystic Three All sleep in Brahm, for He is all in all. Ages on ages pass, and Brahm awakes. And re-creates the Triad, and again The word is given. Create, Sustain, Destroy. CANTO VII. Symposium, He said and paused, apparently absorbed In his own thoughts. Then Walton : ' ' Dost accept The first leaf of the Book inspired of God ? Y/hat credence givest thou to all the rest ? ' ' To whom Belmont : " I hold, much truth is found In all religions, — much too that is false. To Moses and the Prophets praise is due. And the first chapter of the Book makes clear That the great Hebrew spake as moved of God ; or That is, in him the Godhood largely dwelt, More than in other men of that his day. And otherwise we strive in vain to show The source of his deep wisdom. Yet I think That even here his views too narrow were, Nor understood he fully what he wrote. Ever the sayings of the Wise are dark, Though clearer to themselves than to the herd. The universal Spirit muses long Before it understands its own high thoughts. 'T is so in every science ; — most in this Which seeks the knowledge of his inmost self; 120 THE END OF TIME. 121 And man}' centuries liad passed away Before a true interpreter arose, Those words of purest wisdom to expound." WALTON. Thou speakest of a spirit ; yet 't is plain Thy God is but a subtle form of matter. BELMOXT. The ^ther is not matter, for it has No weight ; does not retard the comet's flight, Whose gauzy veil dims not the faintest star. What men stj-le spirit, seems to me but nought ; Ev'n less than emptj' space, if such might be ; A mere vacuity- that cannot have Length, breadth or height, or quaUties or powers, But is the merest shadow of a name. ^ther exists, 't is here, 't is even,-where ; In its totality" has boundless strength ; Has been of old, from all th' eternal 3-ears ; Knows not decay, can never cease to be. I ask, of what can these be true save God ? All life is God's ; all thought, all will are His ; All love, all hate, all sorrow, and all joj*. Nought else can think, or will, or love, or hate. Crass matter surely can do none of these. Then what is left us but that wondrous Presence 122 THE END OF TIME. Which doth inhabit this broad universe, But which the heaven of heavens cannot contain ? This mightj^ fabric is engulfed in God, W^o is around, above, beneath it all ; And be it still, or sweepeth it along Age after age straight forward on its course, Yet is it ever midwa}- of the Deep, As Time is midway of Eternity, While in at every window looks the Night. Would I were all of God, as I am part ; For then through boundless space would I enjoy The long Nirvana of the Buddhist creed. And, stamping out this hostile universe, Would wrap myself in darkness as a robe. WALTON. This iBther which thou daimest as thy God, Is only Matter, thin and tenuous ; For 't is elastic, and it answers back To thrills of Hght-producing molecules. Or bounding prdse of human nerves or brains, As air responds to quivering strings of harps. BKLMONT. Then call it Matter, Walton, if thou wilt. Names do not terrifj- me as of j-ore. A thrill of ner\'e begets a thrill of soul ; THE END OF TIME. 1 23 How could this be, if they were not alike ? The chasm betwixt the brain and what is called Spirit, has ne'er been bridged, can never be. How does that ghostly Nothing apprehend The motions of the substance that we are ? Take cognizance by eye, or ear, or hand ? WALTON. I cannot tell. This is a depth profound ; And yet I know that something in me thinks. And feels, and wills. Matter does none of these. Canst thou in millimetres measure love ? Count the vibrations of a trembling hope ? Or graphically represent a fear ? My hand, my eye, my ear are not myself, — The mystery denominated I. Rend them away from me ; I still remain. Have ^ther' s particles free will or choice ? Can they be one, as I myself am one? Is each of them an individual soul ? Or does a cluster make one conscious self ? Do countless tiny atoms, all apart. Gyrate in curves or spirals intricate, And is this whirling motion thought or will, Noble self-sacrifice or tender trust ? A movement to the right, — can that be joy ? A left-ward progress, terror or despair ? Surely, Belmont, thou canst not thus believe ! 124 THE END OF TIME. BiELMONT. The wine in yonder crystal cup liatli cauglit Its color from the sun, and flasheth forth From out its heart a beauteous ruby red .- And this upon the retina doth beat, Making vibrations many million-fold In one brief second's space. Thus much we know. But is this all ? No ; something stands behind In the brain's deep recesses that can see. I hold it is the ^ther, which thou know'st Is there. Why fly to something that is Nought ? WAI,TON. Belmont, our spirits are most real things. Infinite ages ere there was a world, Spirit existed. Out of nothingness It summoned matter by creative act, And holds it up in being to this hour. And though this mighty universe should sink Back to the nothingness from which it came, Spirit would live, and hve forevermore. That first of spirits is th' eternal God, And we are like Him, though of less degree. "We think, we feel, we will, we love, we hate ; All these we do, and yet we know not how. We too are tied to matter, like the Christ, THE END OF TIME. 12$ Who stooped to earth to share our lowly state, And bore to heaven a body like our own. How can this be ? I own I cannot tell, Nor all the mysteries of life explore. But still thy theory, though 't is akin To ancient Grecian thought, rests on the sand. From star to star thy ^ther may extend. Or ev'n beyond ; but is it infinite ? This were a mere assiunption, wanting proof. Then as to us poor trembling sons of men, If what thou hold'st be true, death ends us all. And none of us hath life beyond the grave. BELMONT. ( With a troubled look and sighing deeply.) Sooner or later Seymour's tuneful harp, Its strings all snapped, shall crumble into dust The winds that wont to wake its melodies. Shall seek for it in vain through tent or hall. Shouting, "Where art thou, friend of joyous hours?" — Anon to whisper softly, ' ' Art thou dead ? ' ' Man dies. His nerves and brain disintegrate, And the fond -^ther stirs him not again. Dust unto dust perpetually returns, And these proud bodies shall again be clay. Why not ? We momently are giving back Unto the world of Plants the elements 126 THE END OF TIME. Which it had lent to us. Thus keep we up The never-ending commerce of the reahns. We die ; — our bodies turn again to dust ; That is in part, — for gases first exhale, Float in the air and nourish trees and flowers. Perchance the warrior's sinews re-appear In the tough branches of the sturdy oak ; While the young maiden's bloom adorns the rose, And her fair forehead in the lily shines. All vegetation feeds thereon ; the moss, I/Dwliest of all, — cedars of I^ebanon, And giant pines of California, With mountain firs and ash. By these again The animals are fed, save such as prey On others. That removes it but a step. Thus from the rhizopod to th' elephant. And from the dewdrop's viewless denizens Up to the lord of seas, leviathan. The range extends. We may become each one. This is the truth that lay concealed beneath The fables of the East. Who kills a worm, May tread some hero's dust. That dust again May shine in arms, may glow in battle's front. Thus may we live, and thus we still shall be. WALTON. But hast thou never felt desire, Belmont, For individual life beyond the grave ? THE END OF TIME. 12/ And gives thee not that thought a single pang, That thou th5'self, Belmont, shalt cease to be ? BELrMONT. ( With a dreary smile.) " Man is a billow ; God the shoreless sea." So spake the seers of the olden time. Once more to mingle with the Infinite, — This is our end. Should we refuse the boon ? Can we refuse it ? No ! 't is doom ; 't is fate. Once I was in a storm. 'T was night. I slept In a good barque, and dreamed of friends and home. Methought the sk)^ was blue, the air was sweet, Laden with votive offerings of the flowers ; And they were there, the long-lost ones, the dead, All there again in that ancestral hall. But suddenly the sky grew black ; the wind Began to howl, the house to rock, the earth To reel beneath our feet, — and I awoke ; Awoke to hear the shouts of frantic men. And woman's scream, and the mad tempest's roar. I felt the strong ship quiver as a horse Under his rider's lash. The Captain cried, " Great God, we 're lost ! " Ah ! there was terror then. Men's hearts gave way, that ne'er had quailed before. 128 THE END OF TIME. They fell upon tlie deck ; they cried to heaven. All but myself. I struggled through the crowd. One flung his arm around my neck, and said : " O pray, Belmont ! " I sternly thrust him off, And made my way above, and lashed myself Fast to the mainmast. If an age, O Hell ! Spent in thy darkest confines, doth contain, A tithe of that dread hour's agony, I^et me ne'er dwell a moment in thy pit. But those weak wretches, how I envied them, — And scorned by turns, — who thought their souls should live Forever, and yet shrieked^ and raved, and prayed. All that is past ; yet it is sad to think, However high with hope the pulse may beat, "Whatever rapture kindle in the heart. Or fire of genius glisten in the eye. All, all must perish from the goodly earth. As lightnings are extinguished in the sea. Great sea of Gk)d ! so fathomless, so calm Far down beneath the sparkle of thy waves ; The laughter of the young, sweet music's charm. Blushes of maidens at the words of love. And smiles of mothers o'er their cradled joy ; — ■ These are the ripples playing o'er the Deep, — - O God, how deep, and how unmerciful ! But the strong voices of great orators. Rousing the hearts of men to glorious deeds. And the fierce shout of battle, and the rage THE END OF TIME. 1 29 That overpowers fear in human breasts, — Are they not billows surging mountain high, And struggling heavenward for the mastery ? Yet both alike shall faint, and die away, — Shall die in thee, O God, the pitiless ! Fate, grant me this, that what I am, be doomed Not long to linger in the idle grave. lyCt me not be the dull, insensate clod. The storm, the whirlwind, heaven's resistless fire, — Such be Belmont. Or better still, be Man, Man as he shall be, not as he is now. As for the rabble, I would rather be A crawling worm, or some curst pestilence. The scourge of earth, stealing my way by night. And blasting all the coward multitude. WAI.'CON. " Man as he shall be," — ^was it this thou saidst ? And hast thou yet a lingering hope of life Beyond the Present ? BKIyMONT. The sages taught us that Eternity Moves not straight on, but in a cycle's round. Five myriads of years that round requires ; Then what has happened shall occur again, I30 THE END OF TIME. Another Tiphys be, and steer his ship, The good ship Argo with its heroes choice, Seeking the golden fleece from Colchian shore ; And swift Achilles sail again to Troy, And drag a Hector 'round the city walls. In earlier life methought this might be true. Matter was finite ; ^ther, infinite ; And, in the course of endless years, the Past Must of necessity repeat itself. Though it should take a myriad myriad years. But when I saw the struggling Deity Advancing step by step to higher forms. Saw how imperfect were the noblest men, The noblest always most dissatisfied. And longing most for something unattained ; I held there might arise a golden age Foretold by Sibyls, and by horrid Fates, Clotho and I^achesis and Atropos, And promised to His followers by the Christ. Then men shall be immortal Hke the gods. Exalted men, of giant intellect, Profound in knowledge, of supernal power To fly on tireless wing from star to star. And gamer knowledge from the utmost heavens. If I may not be God, the Infinite, I would be Man, the highest form of God ; Man with the grandeur that is yet to be. But could that wondrous Being, so august, Remember me and know that he was I ? THE END OF TIME. I3I What is this Personality which binds Past, present, future of our life in one ? What chain is this, unseen, impalpable, Yet stronger than most ponderous links of steel ? Am I the same, that once, a little boy, Hung 'round my mother's knee, and feared the dark? What is the during substance that abides Through all the changes of our mortal state ? Sameness of brain and nerve, of form and mold ? Or, — matter changing — ^ther still the same ? But when this human frame disintegrates, And all its atoms scatter to the winds, The bond is broken. It is I no more. WAT^TON. Despairing man, thine is a joyless faith. Wert thou not happier to be as they Who know not, think not of such fearful things ? BEIyMONT. Thy words were wise, if happiness were all. The highest crags are those most scarred and riven By the red thunderbolt. When winds are heard Through the deep forest sighing, 't is the oak, Lifting its lofty head above the rest, That gives so plaintive answer to the breeze. 132 THE END OF TIME. Noblest are saddest. Christ was sorrowful ; And wlien I see His anguish-stricken face From some high. Olivet look down on Earth, — The tear-drops stealing from His piteous eyes, — I almost feel that I could worship Him. And worship Him I do, but not as thou. I bow before the sadness so divine. World-sadness gathered in one woe intense. As to myself, thus much I may disclose : Once from the Andes' west acclivity I saw a condor mounting tow'rd the skies. There is a grandeur in a bird's ascent That made my heart leap in me, from a boy. And so I watched him circling higher still, Almost unseen, when lo ! a lurid shaft Shot from an envious cloud and pierced his heart. Mine too it pierced. " Yet, thou proud bird," I said, * ' May I but reign like thee, and like thee die, "Without a moment's warning or a fear." Nobly to die — yes, nobly, — that 's the word, — This well becomes the great, and fitly ends The life-long tragedy. Then let me fall Leading my legions, dying sword in hand, lyet soldiers bear me to a soldier's grave ; lyet wild, impassioned, melancholy strains Of martial music sadden all the air. Supported by the cannon's sullen roar ; And let men say, " Here lies what was Belmont." THE END OF TIME. 1 33 WALTON, Sorrow is great, but joy is greater still. Thou wrongest Christ with any other thought. I know that He was sorrowful on earth ; But this was for a purpose, — for a time. He bare our griefs, He carried all our woes ; It pleased the Lord to bruise Him for our sakes ; But now the bitterness of death is past. God is forever blessed. I rejoice To look above the storms that ravage earth, To th' undisturbed serenity of heaven ; As from some peak we view an azure sky While hostile tempests war far, far below. God is forever happy, and the good Partake forever of His bliss and peace, Man then at last shall realize those hopes, Man there shall gratify those large desires, Which now and here heave like a troubled sea In some pent cavern by the ocean's marge. That longs t' expatiate on the boundless main. These are what Christ hath promised wretched man. What sayest thou of them ? BELMONT. They are prophetic. I have felt them oft, Stirring the waters of my inmost soul ; 134 THE END OF TIME. Yet they foretell not what myself shall be, But what the godhood shall one day attain. For progress is a fundamental law Of individual men, the race, and God. " Onward, still onward," is the word of march ; And when the drumbeat of the Universe Falls on the listening ear of Deity, He presses forward with a warrior's step. On, on forever ! There is no retreat. His rest is but a sleeping on his arms. Not so with us. The oak attains its size After protracted centuries of growth, Then gradually sinks into decay. Man finds his acme, — first in what is called His body ; then in what we style the soul ; Then on his being's shore dies like a wave. The Infinite proceeds far otherwise, Halts but to gather strength for future deeds, And those new deeds are greater evermore. WAI^TON. What thou rejectest is a personal God. Thou dost accept the Pantheistic One, The Absolute ; Entity tenuous, Essence difiiised throughout immensity, That thinks not, feels not save by matter's aid ; That slumbered through a long eternity. And slumbers now more deeply than of old, THE END OF TIME. 1 35 Except in this broad temple of the worlds, So vast to us, j-et but a point to Him. To Him ? — to It ; that is the proper word. And of this new-made temple we are priests. Only in us can It say Thou, and I. In us the ^ther worshippeth itself ; Man is self-conscious God, and God is Man. Man is, forsooth, the highest form of God ! Ah ! in my wildest wanderings from Him, I never strayed so far. Either no God, — None, none at all, — or else a God in truth ; Distinct from Nature, Maker of the worlds ; No fiction crowned and seated on His throne. I reverence but I cannot worship Man ; Much less beasts, birds or reptiles, stocks or stones. " God is not personal except in man." Such th}' belief. Now how are we to know That man is personal save by his works ? An author is a person, for he shows Intelligence and will. An artist too For the same reason. Look at Nature's book, "With gold and crimson, lily-white and blue Illuminated ; garnished with designs Of mountains, forests, lakes, clouds, waterfalls. If any man interpret what is writ. Or if he catch a glimpse, just here and there, Of the all- wondrous glor^- that enrobes This little planet whereupon we dwell, 136 THE END OF TIME. How loud are our encomiums on his skill ! And shall we say that He, — that That which made All, and immeasurably more, hath less Of understanding and of will than Man ? Can He be blind who formed the eye to see ? Or deaf, who made the ear ? Was less required To frame our bodies, exquisitely planned, Than to discover, by research prolonged Through many ages, how and why each part Performs its functions ? Does the mother know The structure of its curious organism, As with unmeasured fondness she surveys Her tender offspring nestling in her arms ? How, of her substance, cartilage and bone. Muscle and nerve, blood, artery and vein Have been wrought out ? How from her crimson tide Soft silken hair and eyes of blue were made ? Or why the father's forehead, or those lips. Which she herself now presses to its cheek. So re-appear and claim redoubled love ? Or knows she aught of tissues cellular, And all the deep economy of life ? There is a wisdom loftier than man's ; There is a purpose older than his will ; There is a Spirit whose transcendent power Created and sustains this universe. Him I adore, — not that which He hath made. THE END OF TIME. 1 37 BEI^MONT. This fable of the priests I once believed, And certainly some instinct leads the mind T' attribute personality to God, Man looks in Nature's mirror and beholds His own reflection, — like a graceful tree lyeaning above a lake, — and calls it God. He stands upon the Brocken of the world, Sees his gigantic image on the mist, And deems the spectral effigy divine. Once I believed as thou. I might again, But for the difficulties in the way. God, to be God in thy sense of the word. Must be not only wise and great, but good ; Supremely good, aye ! good beyond our thought, Is thy God good ? Answer me from thy heart. WAI^TON. Thyself hast said it. Good beyond the thought. Of men or angels. Take thine upward flight Through space, upon imagination's wing For centuries, till thought is wearied quite, And thy tired spirit droops and sighs for rest ; Yet there are heights above thee, all un- reached. They never can be reached by aught save God. 138 THE END OF TIME, b:^i,mon1*. If SO, then wisdom, might, And goodness, all are infinite in Him. lyook at this world, deluged with misery. When has there been in all its history An hour, a moment when it could be said. There riseth not a bitter cry of woe To Him, thou callest good ? Despair and death, — Hearts wrung with anguish, mine among the rest, — These, these have been the history of the world. Has woman's piercing shriek above her dead B'er ceased to ring in the Eternal's ear? Has He not heard the sound engirdling earth. The dismal wail caught up from land to land ? Man cries in vain to God. He hears us not ; Heeds not our frenzied prayer. O Godof lyove, — If such there be, — when I stood by my son. Mine only one, my boy, my beautiful. And saw the death-dew gather on his face, I had not prayed for many a long, dark year ; But being in extremity of grief, I said, " Oh ! mercy, fearful, unknown One." He gasped for breath. I fell upon my knees. And cried, ' ' Behold my bleeding heart, O God, That heart which Thou hast given me, if Thou art." No answer came. I heard the night winds moan ; THE END OF TIME. 1 39 I saw the moonlight resting on the lawn, As peacefully as on my bridal eve ; But heard not, saw not Him on whom I called. I could not bear to see my darling die ; So I strode out of doors. The stars moved on Just as of old. Then I gave up to Fate, Which beareth all things onward, men and worlds, All, all alike, with one resistless law. Therefore I say, the wisest are most sad ; Yet wisely sad. Their sorrows should lie hid. As ocean's horrid caverns 'neath the waves Whose tranquil surface ripples in the breeze. Or, stiller yet, reflects the fleecy clouds. So should all genial fancies, lightsome thoughts, Play o'er the great man's mind ; but all things grand Bury themselves within his mighty heart. Let nothing but the lightning probe those depths, Those rock-ribbed chasms where shipwrecked treasures lie. Why speak of this to-night ? I cannot tell. Is the wine poisoned by yon goodly bowl. That ought to give us thoughts if sad, yet sweet ? Ah ! no. The chalice of my life is drugged, And I but taste its bitter dregs to-night. WAIyTON. 'T were vain to say that Sorrow is not here, Nor has been through a sore and weary past. 140 THE END OF TIME, But joy has had. a dwelling-place on earth. Man's cup is not all bitter. Not so dark Seemeth this goodly earth to other eyes. The fireside circle with its light and warmth, The glow of health, the bounding pulse's play ; And all th' exhilarating sense of life. When on some balmy morn we wander forth Through shady groves, o'er meadows broad and green. While the young lambs are playing, and the birds Carol aloft or flit from tree to tree ; The distant cock-crow, and the plowboy's song, The sunshine's splendor free to all the world, The swarms of insects sporting by the rill. And the blue sky above us, tell not me Of a malignant deity on high. Surely we have the rains from bounteous heaven, And pastures rich, and kindly fruits of earth. Filling our hearts with gladness and with food. Storms rend the sky, but then come restful days, And God bestows ten thousand benefits XJnneeded for existence on this earth, But teaching us the goodness of His heart. Forget not all the pleasure thou didst draw From thy poor son. His bfrth was hailed with' joy; And when thou sawest him in his mother's arms, The while she lay so pale, so beautiful, THE END OF TIME. I4I Thy bosom heaved with calm and pure delight. For months and years he gladdened all thy home. God lent him to thee for a happy space ; He took his own, — thy anguish knew no bounds, And thy one sorrow drowned a thousand joys. BELMONT. Walton, O stay thine hand ! Ope not again The wounds that I had thought would bleed no more. They bleed afresh to-night. WAI^TON. I fain would soothe Thy bitter agony, not probe it to the quick. Oh ! had the quiet of that moonlit hour But calmed thy troubled soul, and taught thee trust In God's great merc}^ ! Hadst thou wept and said, " O God of love, thy will, not mine, be done ! " If an Almighty Being reigns on high, How could it profit Him to be unjust, — To be malign to aught that He hath made ? The weak resort to treachery and guile ; The avaricious rob for filthy gain, 142 THE END OF TIME. "Whicli they could not acquire by other means. But boundless strength and boundless opulence Need not to stoop to measures base like these. Then shall we judge that God, so often good, Is yet malicious for pure malice' sake ? Hyper-Satanic and incredible ! Deep, in our hearts the sovereign power of love Has been implanted by our Maker's hand, That we may love our fellow-men, but most That we may love the Fountain of all good. For power and wisdom none of us can love, But all love nobleness, self-sacrifice, Gentleness, sweetness, generosity. Can love be bought ? Ah ! yes. But we must pay Gold for its gold ; for love is bought with love. Can we love cruelty ? I^ove malice ? No. If God be cruel, be malignant, then He hath so wrought the temper of our souls. That we can never love Him. Why were this ? Why give us love for that which He was not ? Nay more, there is a hatred in our breasts For cruelty, oppression, falsehood, wrong. Such things deserve oiu hatred ; and we feel That scorn of them is virtuous, is right. Why form us thus, if He deserved our hate ? Why did He lift us higher than the brutes, That nothing know of virtue or of vice ? At least, we should not then have hated Him. THE END OF TIME. 1 43 Why not have framed us that we should revere What now our inmost spirits do contemn, — A deity of malice and revenge ? Admire and love the cruel and the base, And hate the godlike, and abhor the good ? But as we are, the noblest of our race Most love the good and most detest the ill. If God should perpetrate one cruel deed. It would forever overthrow His throne. Then must we take our choice between these two : A senseless substance which thou namest God, An idiotic something, — who knows what ? — Evolving from itself the loftiest minds, And purest virtues that adorn the world ; Or else a Being great, and wise, and good Beyond the utmost limit of our thought ; Whose ways we cannot fully understand, But who has given us His solemn pledge. That through the ages He will do the right. Most Merciful, Most Gracious is His name ; Abundant both in goodness and in truth ; Yet He will pimish sin. BEI.MONT. Sin ! Punish sin ! And what is sin, I pray ? WAI^TON. That which is hateful to a holy God. But say thyself. 144 '^HE END OF TIME. BE)I,MONT. Sin is a milestone on the Appian way, Past whicli we journey to th' eternal city ; A stairway by wliose steps we climb to beaven. Tbe brutes feel shame ; tbey never know remorse ; For only man on earth is self-condemned. Sin is an outer shell, that binds and chafes ; We must burst through it ere we wing our flight. Oh, stairway steep and narrow ! Heaven, how high! We slip, we fall, we lacerate our flesh, We cry aloud with pain, and this is Hell. No other hell awaits us. 'T were unjust. Ktemal city, art thou but a dream Of slumbering godhood in these poor, poor hearts? The centuries pass. Thou seemst no nearer us. If nearer, thou art still beyond our reach ; And in this curst Campagna's pestilence We sicken, faint, and die afar from thee. We die, alas ! but never live again. Perhaps the godhood that has risen above The brute, and sins and suffers now in man. Shall reach, one day, the height of sinless heaven. So thought the Nazarene. It may be true, But not for those who dwell on earth to-day. WAI^TON. And hast thou known remorse ? THE END OF TIME. 1 45 BEI/MONT. The godhood in me oft has felt its pang. The ^ther vibrates in a certain way, And years pass by, and lo ! a random word Falls on the ear ; the former thrill returns, And the dead Past leaps into life again. Kv'n while I speak, a scene comes back to view ; A leafy wood, a dim secluded nook Fanned by the early breeze, the sun not up ; Two surgeons, and two seconds, I and he. A voice cries ' ' Fire ! ' ' One shot rings out. 'T is mine. He pales, he sinks, is caught in friendly arms, And gently laid along upon the sward. " Shot through the lungs " : From nostrils and from lips Hot scarlet blood flows forth. He gasps for breath. And his wild eyes stare upward, all aghast, Into the dread and fathomless Abyss That holds all worlds in its relentless grasp. ' ' Fly i ' ' shouts my second. ' ' Fly ! the law ! the law !" Have I not fled o'er scorching desert sands. Through mountain fastnesses, o'er oceans broad ? Fled, — but he follows me. There 's no escape. Into that same Abyss my eyes look out, Beyond the worlds, beyond the Day, the lyight, 146 THE END OF TIME. Tli.e joy, the hope that cheer the heart of man. Oh, that our prison walls, impalpable, Yet stronger far than thickest plates of steel, Would close, and crush the universe and me ! I stand in battle's front. Men call me brave ; l^hey do not know how much I long to die. To right, to left of me, a thousand fall ; My life is charmed. Alas ! that it is so. WAI^TON. Thy life is spared ; then wilt thou not repent ? Thy sin was great, but it may be forgiven. Forgiven ? The past can never be recalled. No power on earth, in fabled heaven or hell, Can change a particle of what has been. Forgive ? How can the ^ther pardon sin ? Unconscious deity forgive a crime ? The ancients should have made another Fate, With long, gray hair, with sunken, haggard eyes Forever looking backward at the Past, Wringing her lean and bony hands in vain, And weeping tears that scald her withered cheeks. WAI^TON. This holy book reveals a conscious God, Who gave His Son to die for sinful man. THE END OF TIME. 1 47 His blood can wash away our foulest stains, Not by annihilating what is past, But by atoning for our blackest guilt. Love bids thee come, as multitudes have come, To find forgiveness in the Crucified. This is the way to holiness and heaven ; The path thou treadest leads to death and hell. CANTO VIII. The Christ. He said and paused, and there was silence now About the festive board ; when suddenly There fell upon their ears a thunder-clap With startling nearness. Then Belmont arose, "Went to the tent door, and looked out again. ** 'T is very dark, without," he said ; "Is this The first loud peal, or have the rest of you Heard others ? ' ' Mowbray answered, ' ' There have been Several but none so near. ' ' Belmont returned, " I do remember now, as 't were a dream. The vague impression of a sullen roar. Which, whether it were thunder, or the sound Of cannon at a distance, I knew not. Now, while I look, it does not seem so dark. The dusky outlines of the neighboring tents Show like huge earth-bom monsters ; and afar A glow hangs dim above the city walls. Night's noon is near. I ever loved this hour. So calm, so quiet after day's rude noise. O Night, thou silent mother of us all, 148 THE END OF TIME. 1 49 From whom we came, to whom we shall return To slumber on thy breast, world without end ; The winds, thy mystic daughters, wail, as now ; Thou speakest not a word. No sound of grief Escapes thy lips. Thou gently coverest us With thy soft mantle, and we wake no more. 'T is strange our spies come not. 'T is time they should, For it grows late. My age demands repose. I am not what I was. These youthful sports Weary me, and in truth I often yearn To sink into that long, unbroken rest." Returning to the table, then, he said : ' ' Thou errest greatly, Walton. I have marked Each thought, each argument thou hast advanced, And nothing thou hast said is new to me. Thou boldest still that hideous dream of hell. Which artful priests, and women long have taught, Priests unto women, women to their babes. Who cover up their heads for fear of ghosts, And kneel as wisely to a vengeful God. The superstition tarries in the mind, And grown men shrink from passing graves by night. And tremble at the thought of endless woe. 'T was thus the priests for ages ruled the world, But now the world is wiser than the priests. And tramples superstition in the dust ; Nor brooks the folly which so oft had driven 150 THE END OF TIME. To groans and prayers before a crucifix, Far from tlie haunts of men, in cells and caves Beneath the darkly burning taper's ray, While penitents in sackcloth, cord, and cowl, I^ie prostrate on a floor of earth or stone. And now no mothers immolate their babes. Man offers not whole human hecatombs To save himself from hell's eternal flames. Away, then, with this frightful phantasy ; Away with priestcraft and its lake of fire. Then as to Christ, that more than wondrous man, In many things so far beyond his age ; Beautiful fable of those ancient times, A smile upon the face of deity ! None can admire the story more than I. With him in thought how often have I trod Along the shores of I^ake Gennesaret, Or walked upon the waters by his side ; Have heard the plashing of the mighty waves, Felt the cool waters lave my sandalled feet. Beheld the bark in which the twelve were tossed Fearful amid the tempest and the gloom. I have stood with him, where the great have failed, In obloquy, desertion, torture, death. Then, where the story into fable turns. Have seen him issue from his rocky bed ; Have heard his voice breathing of love and peace, THE END OF TIME. 151 To those who in his hour of danger fled. Yes, I have seen him mounting to the skies, And when the cloud received him from my sight, I have turned sadly back to earth, convinced That all the generations she has borne, Could show none like Him. Moments there have been When I was tempted to admit His claims, Abandon truth and reason, and believe. But it were idle to believe a myth. ' Rose from the dead ! Ascended into heaven ! Sits at the right hand of Almighty God ! Shall come to judge the living and the dead ! ! ' What ! shall he sit upon a radiant throne, And summon all the nations to his bar ? That Nazarene ? That dead and buried Jew ? How could he judge the dead ? " WAI^TON. The dead shall live again. SEYMOUR. Grant me a word. The dead shall live again ? Whom meanest thou by this ? The multitude That dwelt on earth in all the hoary past ? Populous cities ? Long-forgotten tribes ? The denizens of all the varied climes 152 THE END OF TIME. From torrid heats to Nova Zemblas' snows ? Men of the stone, the bronze, the iron age ? Thousands of millions shall come forth again Out of their sepulchres ? WAi.'roN. Their souls still live. Their bodies shall awake from out the dust, And, re-united to their spirits, stand Before the judgment-seat of Christ, our God. Sl^YMOUR. O madman ! Ha ! Ha ! Ha ! (A satirical scream outside of the tent echoes his laughter.) (Seymour turns pale, clutches his sword-handle, and springs to his feet, exclaiming,) If there 's a devil, he 's let loose to-night ! BEli.MON'r. Be seated, Seymour. Ho ! there, sentinel ! Arrest that prowler just behind the tent And bring him hither. Now once more of Christ. What I have said is well. Would it were all ! But, ah ! there is a very different side To this grand character. 'T is terrible THE END OF TIME. 1 53 To hear his threatenings of eternal wrath, His stem denunciations of his foes ; And all are foes who yield not to his sway. Shall all the sheeted dead before him stand ? And shall he say to them who loved him not, " Depart, ye cursed ! " — whither, dreadful Judge ? ' ' Into the endless fires, to company With devils and the damned ! " I cannot read These words without a tremor and a rage. For what have I to do with this dead Christ ? Dead, buried thirty centuries ago ! He be my judge ? Consign me to the flames ? Yet this is idle ; nor does it become My age, my station, thus to fight the wind. Again I tell thee, Walton, he is dead. 'T is a mere myth, that rising from the tomb. As to the fact, I should as soon believe The Paphian Venus rose from out the sea, Or gods joined battle on the plains of Troy. But these his followers, who with pious zeal Still prate you of religion, faith, and love. And hypocritically kneel and weep, And beg for mercy from the Nazarene, — Delivering all who dare dissent from them To the long tortures of an endless hell, — Pah ! how I loathe them ! Grant me this, O Fate, In their own blood to drown them, one and all. lyCt it be said in all earth's coming years, 154 ^-^-^ ^^^ ^^ TIME. That I was leader of the mighty host, That crushed beneath their heels this serpent brood. WALTON. Ere thou revilest thus God's blessed Son, Thou shouldst bethink thee of thine own foul god. All souls of men are part of deity, — Such is thy faith. Now see what thence results. All acts of shame, all deeds of infamy. That have defiled the history of the world. Cold-blooded murders, shocking cruelties. Done by the inquisition's rack, and fire, Have been the acts, the deeds, the crimes of God ! My God hates evil with eternal hate. His view of sin is not the same with thine. "With thee it has some element of ill ; Weakness, perchance ; human infirmity ; To be avoided, for it brings remorse. Thou dost rebel against God's just decree To punish sin beyond this present world. So long as wickedness itself shall last. Not so with them whose hearts, divinely touched, Feel that the wrath of Heaven 'gainst sin is just. In them each thunder of the fiery mount Wakes a responsive echo. With what joy Unto the covert from the storm they flee ! But there are those — it may be thou art one — THE END OF TIME. 1 55 In whom a warfare long and stem is waged Against this painful sense of ill-desert. In vain the Spirit of the living God Whispers of future woe, of wrath to come. Such thoughts are deemed but enemies to peace, Foes to be strangled by hfe's busy cares, Wrenched from the mind, drowned in the mad- dening bowl, By pleasiire's soft enchantments charmed to rest, As threatening specters by the lute and harp. By such devices is the heavenly Guest Grieved quite away. Conscience is drugged to sleep. The arch fiend blinds the unbelieiing heart, And marks the guilty spirit for his own. Oh ! it is sad to see a soul of man Fighting its downward way to endless woe. 'T is said of one of old who ventured far Into the mazes of a labyrinth, That through the darkness of its tortuous paths, Whence none before him ever had rettimed, He yet retraced his footsteps by the aid Of a slight thread he saw not, but could feel. So, if there lingers in thy heart, Belmont, One faint misgiving that thou mayst have erred. If thou feelst aught of the great love of God, Which like that slender thread retains its hold On thee, thou wanderer from light and life. Turn back thy feet before it be too late. 156 THE END OF TIME. If thou wilt not, tlien mayst thou rest assured, There is a I^aw frora which thou canst not fly ; And a I^aw-giver to enforce His law. B:ei,MONT. Enough ! The die is cast. I/Cave me then, Walton ; trouble me no more. I might have heard thee many years ago ; But now thou hadst as well talk to the grave. I have no hope of heaven, no fear of hell. Time will decide between us, which was right. Time answers all enigmas. It should be Hewn out of stone, of like colossal size With Egypt's sphinx, — set face to face with it. A few more days will solve all doubts for me, However long the rest of you may live. Aye ! in a trice a cannon-ball may teach — Rude master — more than all the wisest men Ancient or modem. I have made my choice. WAI^TON. But little more remains for me to say : To thee, Belmont, as generalissimo, I now resign my place upon thy staff, My rank and my commission under arms. (He lays a folded paper on the table by Belmont.) THE END OF TIME. 1 5/ My ptirpose is to leave the camp at once, Nor longer figlit in this unholy war. Yet ere I go, I take this cup of wine, As yet untasted, and profess my faith In Christ, the Crucified, the Nazarene. Saviour of men, I see Thee on Thy cross. Thy life is almost spent. Thy dying eyes Are looking softly, tenderly on me. Thy heart beats slowly, throbbing forth Thy love, I/Ove that no word of earth or heaven could speak. Thou art surrounded by Thine enemies : Of Thine Apostles all but one are fled. Bv'n thus to-night in all this mighty host Only one heart is found that pities Thee. Thou saidst, " Remember Me ! " If I forget Thy love. Thy grief. Thine agony, Thy death. Forget Thou me in the great hour of doom ! (He tastes the wine, atid replaces the cup on the table,) CANTO IX. The Alarm. Now suddenly a cry of terror rose And nearer grew. All started to their feet And hastened to the tent door. Still the sound Waxed louder and more terrible. The camp "Was rousing here and there with hurried rush, As when a whirlwind sweeps along the ground Covered with autumn leaves. The multitude Were in confusion. Now the drums began To beat th' alarm, and the hoarse trumpets* notes Sounded a rally. " Is it a new attack ? " Exclaimed Belmont. " I hear no musketry. No war-cry." While he spoke the missing spies Up to the tent door rushed in breathless haste. '* How now, Monteith ? What tidings dost thou bring? " Who thus replied : — " 'T is strange, most strange. We saw Upon the city walls a ghostly band Treading the sentry rounds. They seemed above The stature of mankind ; their raiment, white, 158 THE END OF TIME. 1 59 And, througli the darkness, dazzling to our eyes. These things I saw myself. In them there was In act and mien transcendent majesty ; And in their hands bore each a flaming sword. I would have tarried longer, but my men Were panic-stricken and they fled amain. Our sentinels refused to let them pass. Hence I o'ertook them. Meanwhile what we saw, Was noised along the outskirts of the camp ; And to allay the tumult, on we pressed Toward headquarters." " Art thou mad, Monteith ? " Replied Belmont : — " Come, I will go myself. And see if there be truth in what thou sayst. But hold ! a speedier plan occms to me. Haste, bring my largest field-glass. It may be That of these goblins I shall catch a glimpse Before they vanish out of mortal view. Can they be seen in th' dark ? Or shall I wait For a good flash of lightning ? ' ' Then Monteith Essayed to answer him, but peal on peal Crashed the loud thunders as it were their last, And Heaven were scourging Hell, Hell cursing Heaven. Then said the chief : ' ' Methinks I do descry The cause of all this panic ; 't is a trick Of the shrewd enemy this stormy night." l6o THE END OF TIME. Now was there heard a strange sepulchral sound. It was not thunder. No. It seemed to come From some place underground. The firm earth shook, While overhead sobbed the affrighted winds ; And men began to fly they knew not where. Louder than thousand thunders came a roar, And this was followed by unearthly screams. Bitter as death, and piercing all the air. And some cursed God and gave them up to die. What could it be ? Anon, a runner came And shouted : " Fly ! Fly for your lives ! The earth Is rent. An awful chasm has swallowed up Whole legions of our troops. ' ' "Fly? saidst thou; fly?" Exclaimed Belmont ; "So perish all who fly ! Fly ! Never ! " Then he stamped upon the ground, And cried : " Be still, thou coward Karth ! Be still. Ye frenzied winds ! And you, ye thunderbolts, Speak not again ! ' ' Then was there heard a voice Chanting in measured accents on the gale : " Day of vengeance ! Day of burning, All the world to ashes turning. Seer and Sibyl thee portend. THE END OF TIME. l6l Trump of God, thy clang astounding, Through the sepulchres resounding, Quick and dead alike shall hear. Death aflFrighted, Nature quaking, Myriads from their graves awaking Shall before the judge appear. Book of Doom, thy blackened pages Hold the sins of all the ages ; Nothing that our fear assuages. King of majesty tremendous, Save me from Thy wrath stupendous. From the woe that shall not end." To whom Belmont : " Away, thou fool, away ! Who art thou ? ' ' Seymour said : " It is the voice Of crazy George. " " Away then !' ' said the chief; " Off ! Off to Bedlam ! Thou but seest the flash Of the mad lightnings, — hearest the frantic winds, Heaven's thunders, and the groans of trembling earth. A shame upon you, men. To-morrow morn Will bring a sky of blue, a breath of spring. ' ' ' ' To-morrow ? ' ' shrieked the madman ; * ' Ha ! to-morrow Will be eternity." 1 62 THE END OF TIME, ' ' Again, I say, Away ! Begone ! ' ' The maniac clenched his fists. And cursed him with a curse of withering hate ; Then chanted yet more wildly than before : " No stifled moan, No dying groan ; No parting cry To the dear God on high ! The features of his latest breath As horrible remain in death." This said, he went his way. At intervals His voice rang through the tempest, as he howled lyike some wild beast : ' ' "Woe ! Woe to all the earth ! Woe unto living men ! Woe to the dead ! ' ' Now the storm lulled ; the thunder peals gave place To that low, sullen roar, when Nature lies Like a caged lion 'neath th' uplifted lash. " Come," said Belmont ; " re-enter now the tent. Out of this rabble tumult. What ! the lamps Are shattered ? One still bums. Relight the rest. There is no sleep to-night : we must await The coming dawn. Ho ! Walton, art thou here ?' ' Who thus addressed, replied : * ' I would not take THE END OF TIME. 1 63 Advantage of the panic to escape. Sucli had my temper been, I would have gone Without appearing in this place to-night. You have me in your power. ' ' He laid his hand Upon his breast, ' ' Here, strike me to the heart, If you adjudge that I deserve to die." He paused. None raised a hand. He said : " I knew The last great day could not be far removed ; But did not think it was so near as this. Kv'n yet 't is not too late. You may repent. For Mercy's beauteous gate is open still. But, if ye shall refuse to enter in, God's glittering sword is lifted up on high, And His wrath burneth to the lowest hell. Will none of you go with me ? ' ' Seymour then, As one bewildered, sprang up from his seat. Belmont cried fiercely, " Down ! thou traitor, down ! ' ' Then Walton : ' ' For eternity decide. O what undying interests depend Upon a single step. God help thee now ! " Seymour's lip quivered : '* If I only thought — " ' ' Aye ! if thou thoughtest, ' ' coldly said Belmont ; " I '11 tell thee what to do. Go, join the foe ! Meanly desert, and then behold thyself To-morrow when this stormy night is past, A renegade amid our enemies, 164 THE END OF TIME. Scorn of our camp, and deeper scorn of theirs. But surely know that wlien the city falls Into our hands, as very soon it must, Thou shalt be gibbeted the first of all. ' ' In silence, then, he looked another way : But presently he turned to him again ; ' ' Art thou still here ? Why waitest thou ? Be- gone ! ' ' Seymour sank in his chair ; covered his face With his soft hands, and wept convulsively. The chieftain sneered : ' ' Come, dry these girlish tears. To-morrow thou mayst leave the haunts of war. I ever thought thou wert more fit for love, For song, and sparkling wine, and woman's smiles, Than for the clash of arms on battlefields." Then he : " O hard, unfeeling, wicked man ! Thy taunts are too severe. 'T is over now ; But there came back a scene of other days. Methought I knelt beside my mother's knee ; Once more she laid her hand upon my head. And taught me say, ' Our Father,* and I felt Her warm breath, as she said, * Grod bless my child,' And pressed her lips upon my little cheek ; And then I clasped my arms about her neck And fell asleep to dream of God and Heaven. O Mother dear, O God, O piteous Heaven, THE END OF TIME. 165 Why do ye smile thus on me from the past ? Close thy sweet eyes, my mother ! I am all Unworthy of that look of tenderness. Go, Walton ; we shall never meet again. Never, O never ! Think of me as one Whose light of hope was gone out in despair ; Who fought life's battle wearily and ill, Who won not time, yet lost eternity. ' ' Whereat the chief: — " I too a mother had, Who reared me as a lioness her young. Whether to bless or curse her, I know not. But she is dead, and I shall follow soon." " Soldiers, farewell, a last, a long farewell ! " Said Walton, as he walked from out the tent. After a moment's pause Belmont leaped up. And drew his sword. " Halt ! Walton ; halt ! " he cried. Seymour rushed in between him and the door ; '* Stay ! stay ! Belmont, and let him go in peace. ' ' " Seymour, away ! " There was a tiger's look In his grey eyes, and on his parted lips A ghastly devil-smile. ' ' Walton shall die. His courage dazzled me, but shall not save A traitor' s life. This sword shall not be sheathed. Till it is bathed in blood." This having said, He thrust him from the way and hastened forth. Then from the blackness that o'erhung the camp 1 66 THE END OF TIME. There fell a bolt of fire upon the point Of his uplifted sword, and set the tent Ablaze with light above the noonday sun, While a strong sulphurous odor filled the place, And a keen thunder-clap deafened all ears. One instant, and the dazzling gleam was gone ; Then tremblingly they went without and saw Belmont upon the ground, still sword in hand. Thus perished he, the Leader of the host ; This, the last death of all the human race. INTERMEZZO. The Two Kings. It is a castle strong and high, And haughtily athwart the sky The massy towers uploom. 'Tis night, and through the windows gleam Full many a light in ruddy stream Far out upon the gloom. Midnight ! The clangor of a bell From topmost tower is heard to swell Out over sea and land ; Over the mountain, down the dell, Over the plain. They know full well The sound, that mystic band. But never in such sort before Rang that knell the broad earth o'er ; Never so loud, so clear. They list, they pale ; then trooping home, "W ith haste, with fright, with speed they come ; They come in haste, and fear. 167 1 68 THE END OF TIME. " To horse ! to horse ! " Tlie coursers sweep O'er deserts. On the rocky steep The flint-fires fiercely flash ; And where across the wave they take Their way, in long and snowy wake The steel-trod billows dash. Anon they reach the castle gate. The myriad lesser soldiers wait In clamorous dread and wonder ; Three officers in gorgeous dress A-through the crowd and tumult press, And at the portal thunder. Through all the place resounds the din. The porter's voice is heard within : — " Now who be ye, and whence ? " Then answer came, " O warder true, Famine and Slaughter, they are two ; The third is Pestilence." This heard, the gate flies open wide. Into the court the chieftains ride, And hurriedly dismount. Their foam-flecked chargers droop beside The sculptured lions' granite pride. Beside the central fount. They seek the hall where sits in state Dusky yet grand, the Potentate, Death, on his iron throne ; THE END OF TIME. 1 69 No courtiers tliere on either hand, No body-guards around him stand, The Monarch is alone. Red Slaughter speaks : ' ' Hail, mighty Lord, I heard th' alarm, and stayed my sword Uplifted in the air." Pale Famine next : " A mother stood Ready to kill her babe for food ; I fled and left them there. ' ' I^ast Pestilence essays to speak, — A plague-spot in each burning cheek ; His lips are deathly white : ' * A glorious prey escaped from me, A city sleeping peacefully ; Why are we here to-night ? ' ' Then Death, — his voice is weak and drear, — ' ' Slaughter, my eldest-born, draw near. Hush ! Is that door shut to ? Famine and Pestilence, all three, Nearer, come nearer unto me ; Hark what I say to you. ' ' Ye know our lives are botmd in one ; When dies the father, dies the son. I feel about my heart A cold sensation and a pang, As I were struck by serpent fang. Or pierced by icy dart. ' ' 170 THE END OF TIME. Now in that dim and lofty hall A shudder seizes on them all, Death and his sons, all four ; Yet Slaughter whispers : ' ' Never fear, For thou shalt live yet many a year, A century, aye ! and more. ' ' " It is a lie ! " The words of doom Kcho sharply through the room. They look, — they hold their breath. " It was the wind," saith Famine ; then Rolls through the vaulted arch again, "It is a lie, O Death !" Between them and the bolted door Upriseth through the solid floor A spectre gaunt and old, A spectre of gigantic size ; Two blazing caverns are his eyes, His hands a sceptre hold. And on his head a diadem, I^ustrous with many a sparkling gem. Rests, ponderous and golden ; His hair and beard are long and hoar, In dark folds trail upon the floor His garments quaint and olden. " O thou," he cries, " so pitiless To mortal weakness and distress, Thy throne too long has stood. THE END OF TIME. I71 Thine is a heart that could not spare The young, the old, the brave, the fair, The beautiful, the good. " Ah ! why could nought escape thj^ rage, — Nor reverend feebleness of age Nor manhood's strength and pride. Nor infant nestling in the arms Of its fond mother, nor the charms Of the sweet youthful bride ? " No cry for mercy e'er could turn Thee from thy purpose fell and stem. Cruel, relentless One ! To thee no mercy shall be shown. Thy last red thunderbolt is thrown. O Death, thy work is done." They gasp for breath, both sons and sire ; They quail before those eyes of fire ; ' ' Dread Goblin, who art thou ? ' ' ' ' Who am I ? Ha ! I heard that bell. I too came hither. I am Hell ! Death, dost thou know me now ? ' ' Tremble ! Ye die before the morn. I that was old, ere ye were born, Live on for evermore. ' ' His sceptre strikes the iron crown From off Death's head. It falleth down And rings upon the floor. 172 THE END OF TIME. The clangor spreads through courts and halls ; Then quake the ancient castle walls From base to turret high. The rabble soldiery, that wait Impatient at the guarded gate, Hear a loud, bitter cry. Now on the pavement hard and cold, Stamps with his foot, that spectre old ; The crown sinks through the stone. Then up the yawning fissure through Bursts a flame of ghastly blue Before the iron throne. From far below, with reeling brain They hear a howl, a clanking chain ; They hear the surge and roar. As of a fiery, heaving main. And with one voice they cry again, More loudly than before. The desperate soldiers charge the guard, They force the gate, — to the grey court-yard Impetuously dash. They halt ; the boldest go before, And rush against the bolted door. It yieldeth with a crash. They see in terror and amaze A Spectre standing by a blaze. Wrapped in a long, dark shroud. THE END GF TIME. 1 73 Back they recoil appalled, and cower. " Ha ! Ha ! It is your mortal hotir ! " The Goblin laughs aloud. He stamps once more. Then rocks the wall ; Earth opens and engulfs them all, King, castle, soldier, son. It closes with a hollow moan ; Thy last red thunder-bolt is thrown ; O Death, thy work is done. CANTO X. Novissima. Now partial darkness rested on the world, For the quick lightnings ceased to leap from heaven. But still earth trembled, and the sheeted fire Suffused the concave of th' o'erhanging sky- Fitfully. From midway the upper deep The moon gloomed on the sight a blood-red spot. "Come, soldiers," said Monteith. "Delay not thus. It may be that his life is not extinct, And it may be recovered. lyctussee." He led the way. They raised the fallen chief. Bore him within and laid him on the board, Moving the flagon and the cups aside. Then stripping off his clothes to find the wound. They saw a long black mark adown his back From head to foot. It was the lightning's path. " It is all over with him. He is dead." They bathed the corpse, and then in decent haste Arrayed the body, laying on his breast The blade that oft o'er battle-fields had waved ; But strove in vain his features to compose. 174 THE END OF TIME. 1 75 Do what they would, a bitter scowl remained. Meanwhile the news had scattered far and wide, And a crowd gathered at the marquee door. Then in stalked Vinton, chanting mournfully — " No parting moan. No dying groan. No parting cry, To the dear God on high ! " They turn, they stare at his fantastic guise. Clothed in gay rags, while from his wreath-bound head His hair dishevelled on his shoulders lies. He sings again as he looks on the dead : ' * The featinres of his latest breath As horrible remain in death. ' ' At this Monteith exclaimed : " O leave the dead ! For if there be a wizard, thou art he. Go, Vinton, go in peace. We pity thee." " Pity yourselves, not me," the madman said. "Yet go, good Vinton ; do ! " Monteith replied, * ' And lead this over-curious crowd away. ' ' " It is thy last command, and I obey. Come, let us go. ' ' And as he went, he sang, " I hear from far Th' Almighty's car, The rushing wing Of cherubim who bring Jehovah's Son to judgment dire. 176 THE END OF TIME. I see on high The chariot wheels flash fire. Soon heaven and earth shall fly Before that dread mysterious eye Which pierceth to Creation's utmost shore. Time, hoary Time, thyself shalt be no more. With him the rest in silence all withdrew. Then were the lights extinguished, all save one ; The tent door closed, a guard before it placed. Seymour within paced slowly to and fro Abstractedly, and sighed from time to time. The rest o'erwearied sank upon the earth. And slumbered waiting for the coming dawn. Now was there heard an angel shout from heaven, And a loud trump that shook the firmament. And the earth answered with a frightful groan. Compared with which her thunders all in one Were as the south wind's softly breathing plaint. Travail, O Earth ! Thy birth-throes are upon thee! The countless nations sleeping in the dust Awake. Flesh unto flesh, bone unto bone Join in the graves. The coffin-lids burst off. Up through the sod struggle the sheeted dead. Beautiful cemeteries, graveyards waste THE END OF TIME. \