Mortal! who hither turn'st thy casual steps As on thou hurriest to the altar proud Of splendid Plutus; — or to kiss the feet Of that foul demi-god Oppressive Power, Pause here awhile, nor let thy sudden soul Start from Instruction. Know that here was born JOHN MILTON! If that, heretofore, thou dwelt Amid the Sons of Luxury and Pride, Thy soul perchance, ebullient with wrath And indignation at the Great Man's name, Will turn away contemptuous: he indeed WAS GREAT! and sang of Luxury and Pride And merciless oppression in such strains That Hell was silent. He indeed WAS GREAT! He made the bad man tremble at the Truth And Righteousness and Judgment! He foretold, In the rich radiance of his heavenly mind, The many wrongs to come. He prophesied Of comfort to the Just — of holiest things— Of retribution and his LORD'S behests Fulfilled! MORTAL! pass not hence thy ways As heedless as thou camest. His high Song, Immortal as thy soul, might on thine ear Regardless vibrate, but if PARADISE, Even, in thy after-thoughts, hath ever place, Sure his high Song shall at the last be heard, Sure holier hymning shall thy heart attune, Thou, from amongst the unhallowed Sons of Earth, Wilt come rejoicing, and thy latter end, Devote to GOD, as MILTON'S, shall be peace!
