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

Omniscient Teacher of regen'rate mind!
Vicar of Christ! who art to men redeem'd
Soul of their souls, and Light of light within,
Vast in Thy sway but viewless in Thy strength,
Thou o'er the chaos of the earth new-born
Didst move, and print it with Thy plastic seal
And inspiration. Beauty hence began,
Order, and shape and symmetry arose;
For Thou of all the Consummator art,
In the green earth, or garnish'd heaven display'd:
Since Nature is Thine organ, and is moved
By secret impulse from Thyself inspired.
Her laws, her lineaments, and loveliness
Are but expressions of Thy shaping will,
The outward index to Thine inward Hand
Creative: beauty is Thy vest Terrene,
Grandeur and grace Thine intimations are,
And second causes form but stepping-stones
By which Thou marchest to Thy works, and ways.

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And o'er those waters of our human world,
The ruder chaos of revolted hearts
Still art Thou brooding, with Thy halcyon calm.
For never, since pollution's blight commenced,
And man apostate to his Maker turn'd,
Hath sigh, or tear, or penitential groan
To heaven ascended and God's welcome sought,
But from Thy grace, pure Spirit! it proceeds.

Then, are we lonely in the war of life
Terrestrial? Strengthless, are we doom'd to strive
With foes of darkness and with fiends of death,
Who round the heart, and in the heart, contend?
Perish the thought! The grace which Luther felt,
Soldier of faith! is prompt to succour thee;
Here is the haven for tempestuous woes
And trials; port of sabbath peace to souls
When the loud billows of temptation rise,
And the heart trembles at their sullen roar.

Oh, for a language, out of sunbeams made,
In syllables of light Thy power to praise,
Helper, and Healer of the heart alone!
Sustainer truly of the sinking mind,
Sole Paraclete to all, for sin who weep!
Descend, and with the dewfall of Thy grace
Our world refresh, a wither'd Church revive,
And the hot fever of man's thirsting heart
With healing balm of blessedness, allay!
Without Thee, creeds become a barren sound,
The Truth is charmless, and the Bible mute
To conscience, though to mental power it speak;
While all in morals, or in motive, gives
But heathen polish with a purer name.

And, where that shrine, the palace, or a throne
From whence Thy secrets and Thy splendours flow!
Where shall our hearts those inspirations seek
Which make all Christians echoes of their Lord?
Wherever man and mind, and scene and space
May act or mingle, there, O Spirit! Thou
With solemn fellowship the soul canst meet.
What, though the herald-stars no longer glide
To light the Magi; though no mystic Bush
Burn with divinity in speaking fire;
And by no miracle made bare, or bright,
An Arm Eternal from the heaven is waved;
Though shut the Vision, and the Witness seal'd,
Nor Voice, nor Thunder out of glory rolls
This earth to waken,—still, Thy love abides;
And the hush'd presence of the Holy One
No bounds can limit, and no laws may bind
From Hearts who seek Him, in their tempted hour.
In cities loud, amid the hum of men
He walketh; or in loved and lonely haunts
Shaded and secret, where Reflection hies;
On mountain-heights, by musing poets traced,
In vales withdrawn, by melancholy shores
Lash'd by the billows in eternal beat,
In each and all God's whisper may be heard,
And still small Voice through listening conscience steal.
Thus, heaven with starry eloquence inspired;
Earth with her scenes of grandeur, or of grace;
Home's gentle magic, infant's guileless laugh
And mother's glowing smile, a charm may prove
Or channel, where His unction can descend
Through soft illapses to our spirit's depths.

But in Christ's temple, there Thy palace is,
Spirit of grace! from Whom our glories come;
Where symbols, signs, and sacramental powers,
Anthems august and hallelujahs deep
Attend Thee, and Thy ministries attest.
And Thine, too, is that living Word which breathes
Of truth celestial, when by prayer perused,
The Bible! there we hail Thee on Thy Throne,
The Urim and the Thummim of Thy power.

Reader! thyself a God is reading now
While thus this question of all questions peals,
Art thou, like Luther, by The Spirit led,
Or, art thou by some hidden Fiend seduced?
Whoe'er thou art, this truth take home, and think!
Two Spirits only for thy soul contend,
The Good, and Bad; but now, alone is Grace
Imparted; soon thy final sands will fall,
And thou in moral nakedness shalt be
To Devil, or to Deity, assign'd
Through endless ages! Oh, that truth immense.
This mortal immortality shall wear!
The pulse of Mind can never cease to play,
But throbs with immortality begun,
Eternal from eternity decreed!
Above the angels, or below the fiends,
To rise in glory or in shame descend
Makind are destined, by resistless doom.
A soul may perish, but it cannot die:
Immortal essence, 'tis from Godhead drawn,
And, like that Source, unquenchable endures.
But thou, calm Spirit of celestial truth!
Thee may we supplicate our soul to save,
And so renew it, till, resembling Thee,
Our heaven commences ere the earth depart.