Backward it swept like a great tidal wave

Of anguish, all Hell's anarchy of grief

Set to a sounding fugue. Grim-throated rose

The awful hymn, and mingling with the wail

Of voices, pealed the cymbals' brassy clang;

The thunderous organs bellowed through the gloom,

And, rocking Hell's foundations, burst a blare

Of stormy trumpets crying: "Woe, woe, woe!"

Methought the angels must have wept to hear,

Methought their tears had dropt like healing rain

Upon the fires of torment, and assuaged

Their blazing wrath, so piteous was the strain.

The music ceased, the echoes sobbed away

Like a tumultuous sorrow, when, behold!

The black veil lifted from the mountain's crest,

And on its glorious summit flamed the Star!

[7]

[7]

HYMN OF THE TOMB BUILDERS.

They were three old men with hoary hair

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