Nor was that all.  God’s justice had still to be vindicated before men:  after the particular there still remained the general judgement.  The last day had come.  The doomsday was at hand.  The stars of heaven were falling upon the earth like the figs cast by the fig-tree which the wind has shaken.  The sun, the great luminary of the universe, had become as sackcloth of hair.  The moon was blood-red.  The firmament was as a scroll rolled away.  The archangel Michael, the prince of the heavenly host, appeared glorious and terrible against the sky.  With one foot on the sea and one foot on the land he blew from the arch-angelical trumpet the brazen death of time.  The three blasts of the angel filled all the universe.  Time is, time was, but time shall be no more.  At the last blast the souls of universal humanity throng towards the valley of Jehoshaphat, rich and poor, gentle and simple, wise and foolish, good and wicked.  The soul of every human being that has ever existed, the souls of all those who shall yet be born, all the sons and daughters of Adam, all are assembled on that supreme day.  And lo, the supreme judge is coming!  No longer the lowly Lamb of God, no longer the meek Jesus of Nazareth, no longer the Man of Sorrows, no longer the Good Shepherd, He is seen now coming upon the clouds, in great power and majesty, attended by nine choirs of angels, angels and archangels, principalities, powers and virtues, thrones and dominations, cherubim and seraphim, God Omnipotent, God Everlasting.  He speaks:  and His voice is heard even at the farthest limits of space, even In the bottomless abyss.  Supreme Judge, from His sentence there will be and can be no appeal.  He calls the just to His side, bidding them enter into the kingdom, the eternity of bliss prepared for them.  The unjust He casts from Him, crying in His offended majesty:  Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire which was prepared for the devil and his angels.  O, what agony then for the miserable sinners!  Friend is torn apart from friend, children are torn from their parents, husbands from their wives.  The poor sinner holds out his arms to those who were dear to him in this earthly world, to those whose simple piety perhaps he made a mock of, to those who counselled him and tried to lead him on the right path, to a kind brother, to a loving sister, to the mother and father who loved him so dearly.  But it is too late:  the just turn away from the wretched damned souls which now appear before the eyes of all in their hideous and evil character.  O you hypocrites, O, you whited sepulchres, O you who present a smooth smiling face to the world while your soul within is a foul swamp of sin, how will it fare with you in that terrible day?