 | The Poetical Works of Robert Montgomery |  |
LET US PRAY.
“If ye, then, being evil, know how to give good gifts
unto your children, how much more shall your
Father which is in heaven give good things to
them that ask him?”—Matt. vii. 11.
All that of Eden now remains
Lives in the lovely page of God,
Where o'er green earth a beauty reigns
As when by Christ at evening trod;
Oh! were it not for this pure story,
Our hearts might scarce conceive the glory
Which still that paradise of words arrays
With all those hues of heaven, which spellbound Adam's gaze.
Lives in the lovely page of God,
Where o'er green earth a beauty reigns
As when by Christ at evening trod;
Oh! were it not for this pure story,
Our hearts might scarce conceive the glory
Which still that paradise of words arrays
With all those hues of heaven, which spellbound Adam's gaze.
The weed, the thistle, and the thorn,
And stooping Labour's moisten'd brow,
Are types and tokens men are born
Under the primal ruin now;
The kingly mind of innocence
Seems crush'd by sin's omnipotence;
And riper passions round our virtues prey,
And with envenom'd tooth begnaw their strength away.
And stooping Labour's moisten'd brow,
Are types and tokens men are born
Under the primal ruin now;
The kingly mind of innocence
Seems crush'd by sin's omnipotence;
And riper passions round our virtues prey,
And with envenom'd tooth begnaw their strength away.
But still beneath man's ruin lives
One feeling, which survived the Fall,—
That which parental fondness gives
To those who hear their children call:
Men are not fiends, but still reply
Like echoes, to each filial cry
A son puts forth in some beseeching hour,
When lisping Childhood yearns for parent's guardian power.
One feeling, which survived the Fall,—
That which parental fondness gives
To those who hear their children call:
Men are not fiends, but still reply
Like echoes, to each filial cry
A son puts forth in some beseeching hour,
When lisping Childhood yearns for parent's guardian power.
Divine emotion! deep as pure;
Without thee, Scripture breathes a tone
Which could not alien hearts allure
To bend before the Mercy-throne:
But when “Our Father!” thence is heard,
Dead feelings in their tomb are stirr'd;
And like the ladder joining earth and skies,
They form attractive steps, by which to heaven we rise.
Without thee, Scripture breathes a tone
Which could not alien hearts allure
To bend before the Mercy-throne:
But when “Our Father!” thence is heard,
Dead feelings in their tomb are stirr'd;
And like the ladder joining earth and skies,
They form attractive steps, by which to heaven we rise.
And thus hath Christ affections used
When pleading oft with prayerless mind,
And shown that, though by sin abused,
There is a law that wields mankind,
By which parental natures prove
The throbbings of eternal Love,
When Hunger seeks them with dejected cry,—
“Food for thy famish'd child! or he must die.”
When pleading oft with prayerless mind,
And shown that, though by sin abused,
There is a law that wields mankind,
By which parental natures prove
The throbbings of eternal Love,
When Hunger seeks them with dejected cry,—
“Food for thy famish'd child! or he must die.”
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And, Lord, if thus the sin-worn heart
So much of paradise retain,
Why dare we doubt in heaven Thou art
Responsive to each prayer-breathed strain?
Did Faith but ask, and knock, and scek,
What giants would become the weak!
And Conscience realise Thy love as true
As when its death-gasp groan'd, “Forgive them what they do.”
So much of paradise retain,
Why dare we doubt in heaven Thou art
Responsive to each prayer-breathed strain?
Did Faith but ask, and knock, and scek,
What giants would become the weak!
And Conscience realise Thy love as true
As when its death-gasp groan'd, “Forgive them what they do.”
Could men but feel, how constant prayer
Sustains the most heroic Mind,
Their life would be one holy care
A Father-God in heaven to find;
Not as a Judge, with iron brow,
Before Him would they bend and vow;
But from the deeps of man's parental heart
Gather some loving gleams of what, O God! Thou art.
Sustains the most heroic Mind,
Their life would be one holy care
A Father-God in heaven to find;
Not as a Judge, with iron brow,
Before Him would they bend and vow;
But from the deeps of man's parental heart
Gather some loving gleams of what, O God! Thou art.
Saviour of souls! our Truth and Way,
Bread for the famish'd hearts which pine,
Instruct us like Thyself to pray
“Father! Thy will be done, not mine.”—
Tender has been the tearful thought
A babe-cry to some mother brought;
But far more tender is The Heart above
Whose echoing depths repeat the name of holy “Love.”
Bread for the famish'd hearts which pine,
Instruct us like Thyself to pray
“Father! Thy will be done, not mine.”—
Tender has been the tearful thought
A babe-cry to some mother brought;
But far more tender is The Heart above
Whose echoing depths repeat the name of holy “Love.”
| The Poetical Works of Robert Montgomery | |