George. I see their pale and stately forms as they collect for fearful judgment! I see the prisoner approach the dreadful bar, his tall form seems.... I cannot discern his features—they float and flow like morning mist! Hark!
Chorus of Voices. We, once chained, beaten, tormented, choked with dust and broken with stones, through the Power now given to our hands, proceed in our turn to sentence!
We too will judge and torture; try and condemn; Satan himself will delight to assume the execution of our sentence.
The Man. George, what dost thou see?
George. The prisoner! the prisoner, father! He wring his hands—O father! father!
A Voice. With thee dies out the accursed race; all its power, all its passions, all its pride, have joined in thee to perish!
Chorus of Voices. Because thou hast loved nothing—revered nothing save thyself and thine own thoughts—thou art condemned—art damned to all eternity!
The Man. I see nothing, but I hear from every side—above—below—sighs and wails—judgment, threatening, and eternal doom!
George. The prisoner! he raises his haughty head as thou dost, father, when thou art angered! He answers with proud words, as thou dost, when thou scornest—father!
Chorus of Voices. In vain! thou plead'st in vain! there is no redemption for him more, in earth or heaven!