Lucifer

How hath the strong oppressor ceased
Who smote the lands with tireless stroke!
Yea, he who held the earth in yoke,
The golden city of the East.

Hell rose to meet thy coming tread;
It stirred the ghostly ones for thee;
They scoffed, Art thou become as we?
Behold, like us thou liest dead!

Thy pomp is humbled in the dust;
Thy viols hush their cheerful noise;
The worm is underneath thy joys
And overlays thine every lust.

O Lucifer! O son of morn!
How art thou fallen from thy state!
How art thou vanquished, desolate,
Who trode the sons of men in scorn!

For God remembereth thy boast:
Thou saidst, "I will ascend on high,
And build my throne amid the sky
Above Jehovah's starry host."

Thy purpose was to overstride
The cloudy heights of seraphim,
And reign confederate with Him
Whose years eternally abide.

But thou art fallen unto night;
And they who look upon thee there
Shall scan thee with a narrow stare,
As doubting if they see aright;

And say, "Is this the mighty one
Who filled the nations with distress
And made the world a wilderness,
Nor ever let the captive run?"

Lo, many kings of many lands
Sleep grandiose in royal tombs,
Nor know amid their tranquil glooms
The cruel scorn of spoiling hands.

But thou art cast apart like those
Who lie unburied on the field
Where all their might! and valor reeled
To death amid triumphant foes.