The Poetical Works of Robert Montgomery :: :: University of Virginia Library

“Joseph could not refrain himself ------ Cause every man to go out from me. And there stood no man with him, while Joseph made himself known unto his brethren.”—Gen. xlv. 1.

The depths of ocean rest unseen
However loud the storm-blasts ride,
Though where some whirlwind's rage hath been
Foam whitens o'er the flashing tide:

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For underneath in waveless trance
The spirit of stern Water sleeps,
And thunderbolt and lightning-glance
Disturb not its unechoing deeps.

But not like this, majestic Souls
The tempest of the heart betray,
Whom wisdom chastens, or controls
By principles of regal sway:
Unlike the sea, their surface lies
Becalm'd without; all pale and proud,
Where not a ripple meets the eyes
Of those who make the vulgar crowd.

And thus the heaven-born Spartan bears
With mien and manner undisturb'd
Whatever doom his God declares:—
He by divine restraint hath curb'd
Those passion-bursts, which wildly break
From mere excitement's maddening hour,
When stormy pangs the bosom shake
And palsy Reason's noble power.

Who that has heard the gush of woe
From some wild mourner by the grave,
And mark'd the scalding tear-drop's flow
A sunken cheek of sorrow lave,
Or thrill'd beneath those harrowing sighs
Which burst from out a breaking heart,
And felt not, with o'erflooding eyes,
What giant pangs death-scenes impart?

But grief there is far more sublime,
Enacted in this world of gloom,
Which haunts us through memorial time
With shadow deeper than the tomb;—
'Tis when we hear an earth-clod fall
Upon the coffin's lid of death
With clay-cold accents, which appal
And half suspend our choking breath,

With stealthy eye we dare to scan
The face of some bereaved one there.—
And lo! he seems a tearless man,
Whose pang no outward signs declare?
No shudders through his bosom heave,
His features with no anguish move;
And worldlings guess he does not grieve,
And think him all too stern to love!

But, look again! and thou wilt see
That iron Soul which sheds no tear,
A mass of buried agony
Though none to outward sense appear:
His very calm is woe congeal'd,
A pulseless depth of chill despair;
And what no stormful pang reveal'd,
Felt like a frozen tempest there.

Hush'd are high feelings, when their course
Springs from the soul's pure fountain-head;
Though language cannot speak their force,
Yet, far beyond what lips have said,
Down the deep spirit's veil'd recess
They nurse their harrow'd nature true;
And those mankind for stoics guess
Bear hidden wounds, which none can view!

The storm-voice of some open grief
Too often proves a shallow heart;
And there are pangs from earth's relief
Which proud and pure stand all apart;
Like the stern patriarch's, when he felt
Fond yearnings of the brother rise,—
The voiceless heart they inly melt,
And shun the gaze of common eyes.

So dwells there in each virgin mind
Some bashful Grace, that will not bare
Its beauty unto coarse mankind,
But comes to God in secret prayer:
The tumult of religious talk,
Impassion'd tones of Self unveil'd,
With all which crowds life's vulgar walk,—
Heaven has not for her children hail'd.

Thus Nature hides her “secret things;”
Her wonder-works,—what eye can see
The plan whereby Perfection brings
Their essence out of Deity?
All matter, motion, growth, and life
Are myst'ries here, which man defy,
And work with deeper wisdom rife,
Than Science reads below the sky.

And He of hearts the saving Light,
Our living Sun, within Whose rays
A soul can bear the blackest night
That deepens round misfortune's days,
Alone He was; unseen, unheard,
In vigil, fast, and awful fears;
Few pangs He breathed through mortal word,
But spake them by His blood-shed tears!

At midnight, on calm mountains cold
Awed angels might have heard Him pray;
But not disciples could behold
What suff'ring in His silence lay!
And He who seeks a sacred heart,
In solitude must learn to feel;
Nor to the blushless world impart
Those deeper thoughts the wise conceal.

In lofty silence, sad and meek
Thy cross confront, and bear it well;
And if thy soul an echo seek,
To Christ the hidden anguish tell:

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In thy lone chamber kneel, and pray
Where none but God, and thou art nigh;
And He who said,—“Our Father say,”
Shall echo back thy deepest sigh.