Yet man, vain man, would mediate peace between them.
Think not this fiction, “There was war in heaven.”
From heaven’s high crystal mountain, where it hung,
Th’ Almighty’s outstretch’d arm took down his bow, 1071
And shot his indignation at the deep:
Re-thunder’d hell, and darted all her fires.—
And seems the stake of little moment still?
And slumbers man, who singly caused the storm?
He sleeps.—And art thou shock’d at mysteries?
The greatest, thou. How dreadful to reflect,