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

Thou little trembler, robed in white,
Nursling of Heaven! sweet neophyte
Before the font arriving,
The birth-dawn of thy spirit-life
With holy fulness be it rife,
While hearts for thee are striving
With God in prayer; that soon thy shielded charms
May rest secure in Christ's baptismal arms.

A silence breathed from God above,
A halcyon of celestial love

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Now broods with blest control,
Under the Throne of Him who came
In form as weak as thy young frame,—
Thrilling the inmost soul
Of all, whose unfilm'd eye of faith perceives
More than mere water on the forehead leaves.

Bright students of the ways of God!
Who, since Incarnate Mercy trod
The forfeit earth of man,
Bend your adoring eyes to learn
Truths deeper than your thoughts discern,
Shrined in redemption's plan,—
Ye viewless Seraphim! this rite attend,
And your calm watch with Christian worship blend.

Thou innocent! with man compared,
Thee hath eternal Truth declared
A child of wrath and sin;
But here, adopted, seal'd, and sign'd
By Him who hath redeem'd mankind,
For thee will now begin
That second Birth renewing grace imparts
Through this deep sacrament to infant hearts.

Oh, if Emmanuel ne'er had said
“Let children to Mine arms be led,”
Parents might shrink aghast
A creature into life to bring,
Whose soul the curse of God might wring
When time and earth are past!—
But for the promise of baptismal grace,
What sight so fearful as an infant's face?

All that a birth of Flesh can give
What is it,—but a doom to live,
A heritage of woe,
A destiny of guilt and death,
A curse inhaled at every breath
Life breathes from sin below?
By grace uncharm'd, destruction seems to lower
On the sad babe, ere Time can count an hour.

But at the Font where Jesu stands
With greeting heart and gracious hands,
Ready to clasp the child,
Pale infant! there, a breath from heaven
May to thy dawning soul be given
Through Him, the Saviour mild,
Who, while He thunders from His regal Throne,
Loves the sweet age on earth He call'd His Own.

The Root of sacramental grace
Is the new Adam of our race,
The Man Divine who bled;
Hence cometh our celestial birth,
Beyond the parentage of earth,
From our generic Head,—
The Lord from heaven, whose vital Spirit gives
All force by which the mystic Body lives.

More than our first-born parents knew
Before they proved to God untrue,
Works that celestial gift;
Angels, who on their trial stood,
Exceed not this majestic good
Which may thy soul uplift:
A child of God!—can seraphim aspire
To aught sublimer in their sinless choir?

From thee the curse is roll'd away;
Thy soul's new birth begins to-day;
A cov'nant right to all
Immunities and blessings high,
The heart of Jesus can supply
To those who heed His call:
Now to the stillness of thy soul is given,
Like breezeless water, to reflect a heaven.

A City and a Crown are thine
If thou be true to grace divine,
Bearing thy destined Cross;
Lo! on thy forehead lies the seal
Where symbol both and sign reveal
That Life must gain by loss:
Firm to thy vow, beneath God's banner fight,
And keep thy panoply of graces bright.

Christ guard thee now, thou little one!
His glory be thy shield and sun
Whate'er thy lot may be;
Incorp'rate with the Church thou art,
To thee may life and love impart
The truth which maketh free;
New prospects ope, new principles and powers
Rise into play, and rule thine unborn hours.

And, if in secret darkness lie
The seeds of heaven which none descry,
Dormant and cold within,
May God's reviving Breath awake,
Till such dark bond of slumber break,
And grace o'ermaster sin:—

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That latent germ baptismal life bestows
Doth oft in elder hearts its buried power disclose.

How water, word, and grace combine
To work creative spells divine,
In vain let Reason ask;
Children are awful mysteries,
Within whose depth no spirit sees
But His,—who owns the task
Of overcoming, through celestial birth,
That born corruption, which is bred from earth.

Hence! reas'ning sceptic, harsh and cold;
For never will thine eyes behold
Tokens which sense defy:
Nature in secret works her plan,
Her growth escapes the sight of man;
Then, hush thy heartless cry,—
As if the weakness of the water could
Deprive the soul of sacramental good.

True wisdom loves the word “obey,”
And loving hearts but live to pray,
Believing Christ as true;
Safe in His arms, thou mother mild,
With hope baptismal place thy child,
And doubt not He will do
A work mysterious for that infant soul,—
Baptising nature with divine control.

Henceforward, as a Priest and King,
Thy babe becomes a sacred thing,
An heir of grace and glory;
Mother! to whom such charge is given,
Now rear it for that throne in heaven
Scripture unveils before thee;
So discipline the dawning mind and will,
That each some priesthood unto God may fill.

“Our Father!” now thy babe may cry,
Whose Elder Brother rules the sky,—
The Man Divine, who came
By bleeding Merit to atone
For all the guilt sad Earth must own,
And give the child a name,
New as the sacramental Birth, which then
Through water and by Spirit dawns in men.

Blest Privilege! both deep and pure,
Which might our trembling hearts assure
That we are Christ's indeed:
Our Robe baptismal,—keep it white,
And never wilt thou lose the right
Which marks the heavenly Seed
Of all who, grafted into Christ by grace,
Born in the Church, are God's adopted race.

Oh, that on Man's expressive brow
Baptismal pureness beaming now
Maturer life might see!—
How should we bless that rite of heaven
Where grace is felt, and sin forgiven
By mercy, full as free;
And find God's Spirit ne'er that man forsook,
Who kept in age, the vow his childhood took.

But soil'd and stain'd by sin and crime,
Corruption deepens with our time,
And thus our hearts o'erlay
That seed of Heaven, the Spirit granted
When the new Birth was first implanted
On our baptismal day:
Yet not for this, let Souls profanely try
From faith to hide what holy means supply.

Rather, repent we! till the soul
Shall yield to that sublime control
Which heals the broken-hearted,
Who in atoning Blood begin
To bathe the soul, and wash their sin;
Mourning they e'er departed
From that blest Lord, whose interceding love
Reigns on the glory-throne He rules above.