Horror receives us, and the dismal wish
Creation had been smother’d in her birth—
Darkness his curtain, and his bed the dust;
When stars and sun are dust beneath his throne!
In heaven itself can such indulgence dwell? 180
Oh, what a groan was there! a groan not his.
He seized our dreadful right; the load sustained;
And heaved the mountain from a guilty world.
A thousand worlds, so bought, were bought too dear;
Sensations new in angels’ bosoms rise;