The Last Man

All worldly shapes shall melt in gloom, The Sun himself must die, Before this mortal shall assume Its immortality! I saw a vision in my sleep, That gave my spirit strength to sweep Adown the gulf of time! I saw the last of human mould That shall creation’s death behold, As Adam saw her prime! The sun’s eye had a sickly glare, The skeletons of nations were Around that lonely man! Some had expired in fight,—the brands Still rusted in their bony hands, In plague and famine some! Earth’s cities had no sound nor tread; And ships were drifting with the dead To shores where all was dumb! Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood, With dauntless words and high, That shook the sear leaves from the wood, As if a storm passed by, Saying, We are twins in death, proud Sun! Thy face is cold, thy race is run, ’T is Mercy bids thee go; For thou ten thousand thousand years Hast seen the tide of human tears, That shall no longer flow. What though beneath thee man put forth His pomp, his pride, his skill; And arts that made fire, flood, and earth The vassals of his will? Yet mourn I not thy parted sway, Thou dim, discrownèd king of day; For all those trophied arts And triumphs that beneath thee sprang, Healed not a passion or a pang Entailed on human hearts. Go, let oblivion’s curtain fall Upon the stage of men, Nor with thy rising beams recall Life’s tragedy again: Its piteous pageants bring not back, Nor waken flesh, upon the rack Of pain anew to writhe; Stretched in disease’s shapes abhorred, Or mown in battle by the sword, Like grass beneath the scythe. Even I am weary in yon skies To watch thy fading fire; Test of all sumless agonies, Behold not me expire. My lips, that speak thy dirge of death,— Their rounded gasp and gurgling breath To see thou shalt not boast. The eclipse of Nature spreads my pall, The majesty of darkness shall Receive my parting ghost! This spirit shall return to Him Who gave its heavenly spark; Yet think not, Sun, it shall be dim When thou thyself art dark! No! it shall live again, and shine In bliss unknown to beams of thine, By Him recalled to breath, Who captive led captivity, Who robbed the grave of victory, And took the sting from death! Go, Sun, while mercy holds me up On Nature’s awful waste To drink this last and bitter cup Of grief that man shall taste,— Go, tell the night that hides thy face, Thou saw’st the last of Adam’s race, On earth’s sepulchral clod, The darkening universe defy To quench his immortality, Or shake his trust in God!