Drove back his chariot: midnight veil’d his face;
Not such as this; not such as nature makes;
A midnight nature shudder’d to behold;
A midnight new! a dread eclipse (without
Opposing spheres) from her Creator’s frown! 250
Sun! didst thou fly thy Maker’s pain? or start
At that enormous load of human guilt,
Which bow’d His blessed head; o’erwhelm’d His cross;
Made groan the centre; burst earth’s marble womb,
With pangs, strange pangs! deliver’d of her dead?