Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A DOOMS-DAY THOUGHT, by THOMAS FLATMAN


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

A DOOMS-DAY THOUGHT, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Judgement! Two syllables can make
Last Line: While we live here, we must provision make.


Judgement! two syllables can make
The haughtiest son of Adam shake.
'Tis coming, and 'twill surely come,
The dawning to that Day of Doom;
O th' morning blush of that dread day,
When Heav'n and Earth shall steal away,
Shall in their pristine Chaos hide,
Rather than th' angry Judge abide.
'Tis not far off; methinks I see
Among the stars some dimmer be;
Some tremble, as their lamps did fear
A neighbouring extinguisher.
The greater luminaries fail,
Their glories by eclipses veil,
Knowing ere long their borrow'd light
Must sink in th' Universal Night.
When I behold a mist arise,
Straight to the same astonish'd eyes
Th' ascending clouds do represent
A scene of th' smoking firmament.
Oft when I hear a blustering wind
With a tempestuous murmur join'd,
I fancy, Nature in this blast
Practises how to breathe her last,
Or sighs for poor Man's misery,
Or pants for fair Eternity.
Go to the dull church-yard and see
Those hillocks of mortality,
Where proudest Man is only found
By a small swelling in the ground.
What crowds of carcases are made
Slaves to the pickaxe and the spade!
Dig but a foot, or two, to make
A cold bed, for thy dead friend's sake,
'Tis odds but in that scantling room
Thou robb'st another of his tomb,
Or in thy delving smit'st upon
A shinbone, or a cranion.
When th' prison's full, what next can be
But the Grand Gaol-Delivery?
The Great Assize, when the pale clay
Shall gape, and render up its prey;
When from the dungeon of the grave
The meagre throng themselves shall heave,
Shake off their linen chains, and gaze
With wonder, when the world shall blaze.
Then climb the mountains, scale the rocks,
Force op'n the deep's eternal locks,
Beseech the clifts to lend an ear --
Obdurate they, and will not hear.
What? ne'er a cavern, ne'er a grot,
To cover from the common lot?
No quite forgotten hold, to lie
Obscur'd, and pass the reck'ning by?
No -- There's a quick all-piercing Eye
Can through the Earth's dark centre pry,
Search into th' bowels of the sea,
And comprehend Eternity.
What shall we do then, when the voice
Of the shrill trump with strong fierce noise
Shall pierce our ears, and summon all
To th' Universe' wide Judgement Hall?
What shall we do! we cannot hide,
Nor yet that scrutiny abide:
When enlarg'd conscience loudly speaks,
And all our bosom-secrets breaks;
When flames surround, and greedy Hell
Gapes for a booty (who can dwell
With everlasting Burnings!), when
Irrevocable words shall pass on men;
Poor naked men, who sometimes thought
These frights perhaps would come to nought!
What shall we do! we cannot run
For refuge, or the strict Judge shun.
'Tis too late then to think what course to take;
While we live here, we must provision make.





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