Poems By John Moultrie. New ed |
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FIRST SUNDAY IN ADVENT.
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FIRST SUNDAY IN ADVENT.
FROM THE EPISTLE.
I
Through the dreary night of ages,While the world's gross dreamers slept,
Wakeful eyes of saints and sages
Have their lifelong vigil kept.
While long ages wax and wane,
Still they wake and weep in vain.
II
Were thy words too boldly spoken,Heralding salvation near,
Holy Paul?—alas! no token
Of the dawn doth yet appear.
Through thick clouds of grief and sin
Breaks no gleam of twilight in.
III
Hath the Lord his Church forsaken?Nay!—to faith's quick ear and eye,
Signs, too clear to be mistaken,
Tell of his redemption nigh.
Though gross darkness gird us round,
We an inner light have found.
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IV
As the fleshly eye grows dimmer,And the brow besprent with grey—
Nearer we discern the glimmer
Of the soul's eternal day.
As the grave begins to yawn,
Clear and perfect grows our dawn.
V
Lo! the eastern mountains kindleWith upshooting beams afar!
Lo! already droop and dwindle
Waning moon and morning star!
Christ, the Sun of Righteousness,
Soon our weary eyes shall bless.
VI
Christ himself!—make haste to meet him!Cast your robes of sin away;
Clothed in light, go forth to greet him,
Children of the sober day;
Not o'ercharged with foul excess,
Not in lust and wantonness;
VII
Not in wrath and fierce vexation,Not in envying, not in strife,
Chaunt your hymns of gratulation
To the Lord of light and life.
Changed by Him, in heart and will,
Let not flesh its lusts fulfil.
FROM THE GOSPEL.
I
Our Lord came once in humble state,And poor and mean array,
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And strew'd with boughs his way.
Upon a colt, an ass's foal,
He rode in lowly guise,
While shouts and songs, that mock'd control,
Peal'd round him to the skies.
II
“Hosannah to the mighty KingOf David's royal stem!
Whom, in Jehovah's name, we bring
To his Jerusalem!”
So ran the shout from tongue to tongue,
While He in peace drew near—
Those tongues which soon foul insult flung
Upon his cross and bier!
III
And many a weary age hath pastSince those dark deeds were done—
And men would fain believe at last
His reign almost begun.
That day, 'tis said, shall dawn ere long,
When He o'er Earth shall ride,
Begirt by Heaven's angelic throng,
And martyrs glorified.
IV
So dream we, and with venturous skillHeaven's times and seasons guess—
Yet cleave to this world's follies still,
Nor love its bawbles less.
Alas! and sensual lust and hate,
And wasting strife and care,
Pollute and vex, from gate to gate,
Our Father's House of prayer!
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V
With garb and gauds of harlot prideAnd loveless smiles bedeck'd,
The Church, unlike a virgin bride,
Her bridegroom doth expect:
And we, who those blind hearts condemn,
Which Life's own Lord could slay,—
Should haply, had we lived with them,
Have been as blind as they!
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