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76t Doomsday

Behold! with awful pomp, 
The Judge prepares to come; 
Th'archangel sounds the dreadful trump, 
And wakes the gen'ral doom.

Nature, in wild amaze,
Her dissolution mourns;
Blushes of blood the moon deface; 
The sun to darkness turns.

The living look with dread,
The frighted dead arise,
Start from the monumental bed, 
And lift their ghastly eyes. 

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