At the round earth's imagined corners, blow Your trumpets, angels, and arise, arise From death, you numberless infinities Of souls, and to your scattered bodies go, All whom the flood did, and fire shall, o'erthrow, All whom war, dearth, age, agues, tyrannies, Despair, law, chance, hath slain, and you whose eyes Shall behold God, and never taste death's woe. But let them sleep, Lord, and me mourn a space, For, if above all these, my sins abound, 'Tis late to ask abundance of thy grace, When we are there; here on this lowly ground, Teach me how to repent; for that's as good As if thou hadst sealed my pardon, with thy blood. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A SONNET, TO THE NOBLE LADY, THE LADY MARY WROTH by BEN JONSON WHITTIER by MARGARET ELIZABETH MUNSON SANGSTER SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 30. CHRIST AND WOMAN by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) LINES WRITTEN IN SWITZERLAND by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES SONNET: MAN VERSUS ASCETIC. 4 by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON ON READING THAT THE REBUILDING OF YPRES APPROACHED COMPLETION by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN A FRIENDLY EXPOSTULATION, CONCERNING THE REDEMPTION OF MANKIND by JOHN BYROM |