Shakspere

He heard the Voice that spake, and, unafraid, Beheld at dawning of primeval light The systems flame to being, move in flight Unmeasured, unimagined, and unstayed. He stood at nature’s evening, and surveyed Dissolv~d worlds—saw uncreated night About the universe’s depth and height Slowly and silently forever laid. Down the pale avenues of death he trod, And trembling gazed on scenes of hate that chilled His blood, and for a breath his pulses stilled; Then clouds from sunbright shores a moment rolled, And, blinded, glimpsed he One with thunder shod, ... Crowned with the stars, and with the morning stoled!