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James Abraham Hillhouse (1789–1841) from The Judgment, A Vision iv. Then on the mount, amidst these glorious shapes, Who reverent stood, with looks of sacred awe, I saw EMMANUEL seated on his throne. His robe, methought, was whiter than the light; Upon his breast the Heavenly Urim glowed Bright as the sun, and round such lightnings flashed, No eye could meet the mystic symbol’s blaze. Irradiant the eternal sceptre shone Which wont to glitter in his Father’s hand: Resplendent in his face the Godhead beamed, Justice and mercy, majesty and grace, Divinely mingling. Celestial glories played Around with beamy lustre; from his eye Dominion looked; upon his brow was stamped Creative Power. Yet, over all the touch Of gracious pity dwelt, which, erst, amidst Dissolving nature’s anguish breathed a prayer For guilty man. Redundant down his neck His locks rolled graceful, as they waved, of old, Upon the mournful breeze of Calvary. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25 JAmes ABr AhAm hillhouse xviii. Sage faces, grave and firm, with war-worn locks, Around a venerable Sire I saw, Whose hoary head, with patriot glory crown’d, Eclipsed the lustre of the diadem. On their bold brows appeared that settled soul Racks cannot shake, nor fiercest thunderbolts, By Tyrants fulmined; not for gold, nor spoil Torn from an injured people, not to gloss Some Monarch’s purple with a bloodier die, Their swords were sheathless: in the sacred cause Of man’s essential, inborn liberties, Inherent, deathless as his soul, they drew. They were the Watchmen by an Empire’s cradle Whose youthful sinews show like Rome’s; whose head Tempestuous rears with ice-encrusted cap Sparkling with Polar splendours, while her skirts Catch perfumes from the Isles; whose trident, yet, Must awe in either ocean; whose strong hand Freedom’s immortal banner grasps, and waves Its spangled glories o’er the envying world. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xxiii. Low warblings, now, and solitary harps Were heard among the Angels, touched and tuned As to an evening hymn, preluding soft To Cherub voices; louder as they swelled Deep strings struck in, and hoarser instruments, Mixed with clear silver sounds, till concord rose Full as the harmony of winds to heaven; Yet sweet as nature’s springtide melodies To some worn Pilgrim first with glistening eyes Greeting his native valley, whence the sounds Of rural gladness, herds, and bleating flocks, The chirp of birds, blithe voices, lowing kine, The dash of waters, reed, or rustic pipe, Blent with the dulcet distance-mellowed bell, Come, like the echo of his early joys. In every pause, from spirits in mid air, Responsive still were golden viols heard, And Heavenly symphonies stole faintly down. ...

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