At this the ghastly Tyrant, who had sway'd
So many thousand Ages uncontroul'd,
No longer could his Scepter hold,
But gave up all, and was himself a Captive made.
The scatter'd Particles of Human Clay,
Which in the silent Grave's dark Chambers lay,
Resume their pristine Forms agen,
And now from mortal, grow immortal Men.
Stupendous Energy of sacred Pow'r,
Which can collect, where-ever cast;
The smallest Atoms, and that shape restore,
Which they had worn so many Years before,
Tho' thro' strange Accidents and numerous Changes past.