It is fortunate, perhaps, that Anne Bradstreet did not live to read and be influenced by this poem, as simply candid in its form and conception as the "Last Judgements" of the early masters, and like them, portraying devils with much more apparent satisfaction than saints. There is one passage that deserves record as evidence of what the Puritan faith had done toward paralyzing common sense, though there are still corners in the United States where it would be read without the least sense of its grotesque horror. The various classes of sinners have all been attended to, and now, awaiting the last relay of offenders—
"With dismal chains, and strongest reins
Like prisoners of hell,
They're held in place before Christ's face,
Till he their doom shall tell.
These void of tears, but filled with fears,
And dreadful expectation
Of endless pains and scalding flames,
Stand waiting for damnation."
The saints have received their place and look with an ineffable and satisfied smirk on the despair of the sinners, all turning at last to gaze upon the battalion of "reprobate infants," described in the same brisk measure:
"Then to the bar all they drew near
Who died in infancy,
And never had, or good or bad,
Effected personally.
But from the womb unto the tomb
Were straightway carried,
Or, at the least, ere they transgressed—
Who thus began to plead."
These infants, appalled at what lies before them, begin to first argue with true Puritanic subtlety, and finding this useless, resort to pitiful pleadings, which result in a slight concession, though the unflinching Michael gives no hint of what either the Judge or his victims would regard as "the easiest room." The infants receive their sentence with no further remark.
"You sinners are; and such a share
As sinners may expect;
Such you shall have, for I do save
None but mine own elect.
Yet to compare your sin with their
Who lived a longer time,
I do confess yours is much less,
Though every sin's a crime.
A crime it is; therefore in bliss
You may not hope to dwell;
But unto you I shall allow
The easiest room in hell."
In such faith the little Bradstreets were brought up, and the oldest, who became a minister, undoubtedly preached it with the gusto of the time, and quoted the final description of the sufferings of the lost, as an efficient argument with sinners:
"Then might you hear them rend and tear
The air with their outcries;
The hideous noise of their sad voice,
Ascendeth to the skies.
They wring their hands, their cartiff-hands,
And gnash their teeth for terror;
They cry, they roar, for anguish sore,
And gnaw their tongue for horror.
But get away without delay;
Christ pities not your cry;
Depart to hell, there may you yell
And roar eternally.