Explore "The City of Dreadful Night" by James Thomson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Our shadowy congregation rested still, As musing on that message we had heard And brooding on that "End it when you will;" Perchance awaiting yet some other word; When keen as lightning through a muffled sky Sprang forth a shrill and lamentable cry:
The man speaks sooth, alas! the man speaks sooth: We have no personal life beyond the grave; There is no God; Fate knows nor wrath nor ruth: Can I find here the comfort which I crave?