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The Poetical Works of Robert Montgomery

Collected and Revised by the Author

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 I. 
 II. 
 III. 
 IV. 
IV.—Sacramental God.
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 VI. 
 VII. 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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IV.—Sacramental God.

But, see the climax of corrupted truth,
An Incarnation, parodied by priests!
Robed for a melodrame of mutter'd spells
Lo, where the sacerdotal Juggler stands,
Beneath whose touch the sacramental Host
To Body, Blood, Divinity, and Soul
Itself transforms, created into Christ!
Emmanuel there, consummate and complete,
Again must bleed, in Calvary revived!
Oh, horrible, and heartless mock of all
Of God in glory, or of man in grace,
That He, whose Person is the Sum and Soul

205

Of what in time Eternity shall act
High o'er the senses, or mere reason's grasp,—
Is now in sacramental bread contain'd
While the blest wafer turns embodied God.
And Thou, O Spirit! who alone canst rule
The hearts where pantheistic darkness reigns,
Or carnal gods, by dreaming passion shaped,
Debauch the conscience till its light goes out,

206

With what an aping Liturgy of lies
Hath Romish parody presumed to mock
The might, and glory of Thy work august!
And dared, for living waters freshly drawn
From the deep fountains of eternity
And truth, Herself to substitute, and lift
Her canons vile to revelation's throne.
When thus the life-blood of religion's drain'd
By this fell vampire, what for man is left
But the mere carcass of a ritual show,
A mindless worship, meaningless as false,
Where man is God, and God to man transform'd?
Thou dread Almighty! may we dare repeat
With deep-toned echo, that mysterious Cry
Apocalyptic martyrs lift above,
And chant, “How long shall Grace Eternal be
By juggling Rome dishonour'd, and traduced?
How long shall falsehood wear the saintly dress
Of truth celestial, while the Cross is veil'd,
And He, whose merit is creation's shield,
The church's light, and providence's law,
High o'er His Throne, behold anointed dust
And sainted villains, canonised and cowl'd,
Ascend beyond Him, in their plea for grace!”
'Tis thus, the laurels from the brow of Christ
Are taken, and around the head enwreathed
Of Antichrist, for twice six hundred years,—
That aping monster, who travesties God
And in the glory of his darkness seems
A mimic Satan, on Messiah's throne!