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

There is religion in the common earth,
A creed of beauty in the open sky;
And shower and sunbeam prove a sacred birth,
When fancy views them with a feeling eye.

What men call Nature, is a Thought divine,
The Infinite in forms of finite grace,
Where all conditions, seen in God, combine
To make this earth a consecrated place.

Th' unwritten bible of the woods and fields
By love perused, and ponder'd o'er by prayer,
A second gospel to the poet yields,
Who walks creation, knowing Christ is there.

Nothing is mean, by Power celestial made,
And nought is worthless, by His wisdom plann'd,
Who fashion'd all, that Faith may find display'd
The holy impress of God's master-hand.

Oh, could we hail the Element divine
That circles round whatever lives, or moves,
A mystic radiance would o'er all things shine,
And teach the coldest how the Godhead loves!

One vast cathedral, with its roof of sky,
The earth becomes to reverential souls,
When deepen'd by such felt divinity,
Our heart-breathed hymn of ceaseless worship rolls.

But like a cloud doth sensual dimness hide
The heaven-born glories that around us gleam,
While min'string angels to and fro may glide,
And yet not wake us from our worldly dream.

Alas! for men, when thus creation grows
An orphan'd scene, where God moves undiscern'd;
While for the bliss His gracious hand bestows,
Our thankless hearts, how seldom have they burn'd!

This canker-worm of atheistic sin,
Thrice Holy One! do Thou by grace destroy;
Breathe o'er the deadness of the mind within,
And brighten nature with religious joy.

May the hush'd feeling, Thou art ever nigh,
God in the creatures, Life and Law of all,
Unveil pure Edens to our purgèd eye,
And free the spirit from degrading thrall.

Then will a spell of solemn beauty grace
The humblest object which the senses scan,
A temple rise in every cloister'd place,
And all cry, “Worship!” to believing man.

Mountain or forest, wood, or wild, or shore,
Roam where we choose, whatever scene be trod,
The reign of mindless solitude is o'er,
For now, like Enoch, conscience walks with God.

And, thus companion'd by His love and word,
Each man as brother, faith delights to own;
Peasant and prince, from each alike is heard
“Our Father!” warbled to creation's Throne.

Were but this creed by loving hearts enjoy'd,
And God paternal by the soul embraced,
How much of dark'ning self would be destroy'd,
And beauty live, where now breathes moral waste!

Our common life would seem a holy thing,
The lone creation be with God allied,
And not an hour but would some anthem sing,
To praise the Fountain which our stream supplied.

Around, above, beneath, 'tis all divine,
When faith the grand Original can see,
And, while Sense worships in the outer-shrine,
Know the vast world was once a thought in Thee.

Lord! may Thy Spirit to our spirit lend
A princely heart of innocence and prayer,
Whose unction shall the sacred feeling send,
That proves, at every pulse, our God is there.

Radiant his soul, though dark the sense-bound doom
Terrestrial changes for its home supply,
Who feels, before his dust descend the tomb,
That all is christian to the christian eye.