X.
When in mid-Aire, the Golden Trump shall sound, To raise the Nations under ground; When in the Valley of Jehosaphat, The Judging God shall close the Book of Fate; And there the last Assizes keep, For those who Wake, and those who sleep; When ratling Bones together fly From the four Corners of the Skie, When Sinews o're the Skeletons are spread, Those cloath'd with Flesh, and Life inspires the Dead; } The Sacred Poets first shall hear the Sound, } And formost from the Tomb shall bound: } For they are cover'd with the lightest Ground And streight, with in-born Vigour, on the Wing, Like mounting Larkes, to the New Morning sing. There Thou, Sweet Saint, before the Quire shalt go, As Harbinger of Heav'n, the Way to show, The Way which thou so well hast learn'd below. J. Dryden.