Classic Poem

When it comes like a levin-brand
You must not evade the voice;
Die manfully where you stand,
But receive the shaft of its choice.

It is this that now blinds my soul's sight:
We are motes in a ray of God's eye;
But he knows not we dance in his light,
He is blind as the sun in the sky.

It is this that now slaughters my soul:
We are not worth damning to hell,
Or rewarding with heaven. That's the whole
Harsh word of the voice from the well.

What star shines there in the gloom?
Who speaks? Is it God? Is it I?
Who shouts through the trumpet of doom?
“It's a lie, it's a damnable lie!”