O how unlike the chorus of the skies!
O how unlike those shouts of joy, that shake
The whole ethereal! how the concave rings!
Nor strange! when deities their voice exalt;
And louder far, than when creation rose,
To see creation’s godlike aim, and end,
So well accomplish’d! so divinely closed!
To see the mighty dramatist’s last act,
(As meet), in glory rising o’er the rest. 359
No fancied god, a God indeed, descends,