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...MAGDALEN by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE DAY OF THE DEAD SOLDIERS; MARY 30, 1869 by EMMA LAZARUS DOMESDAY BOOK: ARCHIBALD LOWELL by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: SHACK DYE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS TO WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS ON TAGORE by MARIANNE MOORE ABU SALAMMAMM - A SONG OF EMPIRE by EZRA POUND |