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

And yet, 'tis written with a pen of light
That Rome shall wither, and this Earth rejoice
In the rich beauty of her bridal robes
Apparell'd; and beneath her reigning Lord
Keep the long Sabbath of a thousand years.
And hence, millennial is the heart of man,
As if 'twere haunted by some primal grace
Of vanish'd Eden, when the Earth was young,
Sinless, and bright, without one scalding tear
To wet her eyelids, or the cheek to stain.
Creation groans for her sabbatic peace;
And echoing mind, in every age of thought,
Repeats the longing. This the poet's lyre
Hath warbled, in prophetic strains of song,
Caught from the harp of Scripture; and the creed
Of Aspirations, as they rise, and reach
Their zenith, with this inward faith accords,
That Earth shall bloom with paradise regain'd,
And be unweeded of her thorny woes
And thistles; and our Age itself is big
With expectation of some golden dawn,
Or peaceful glories. But alas! for earth,
If no millennium save what science brings,
Await her! if those moral truths sublime,
That reach the Everlastingness of man's
Dread future, have no room for reigning here:
For, sooner may the hand of Science think
To bale the ocean from its boundless depths,
Than drain corruption from the soul of man!

'Tis here the worshippers of Mind, seduced
By science, in their dreams half pagan grow,
Politely bow apostles to the door,
Or gently hint the Bible may be wrong!
For carnal Knowledge to herself is true
And constant ever!—back from God recoils
Behind the tree, to eat forbidden fruit,
Lurking, like A dam, in a guilty shade.
But oh! Thou Spirit of celestial life
And wisdom, teach them first Thyself to know,
And, knowing Thee, themselves to feel, and find
That man unchristian is embodied sin;
And though embellish'd, and by art subdued,
But veil'd corruptions all his virtues form
Till faith can touch them with a spell divine.

But there are prophets, who for Rome predict
A downfall, not by arms of earthly might,
Nor yet by reason, though its powers expand.
Far humbler they: in things divine as deep,
Jehovah is their reason; and they bow
With faith compliant at that mental Shrine
Where Deity, in human words, unfolds
The future, and Himself to love expounds.
And thus convinced, and by the Spirit taught
That man with man can never right be made,
Till right with Godhead will and worship be,
Our true advancement by preventive grace
Alone they augur. Well their natures know,
That as the sun with his bright rays is view'd
The living God with His own love we love.

Hence in the organ-voice of Prophecy
And chanted hymns by rapt Isaiah pour'd,
They catch the music of Messiah's reign
That in them warbles! But a wail there is,
Or ever thus the gladden'd Earth shall lift
Her choral triumphs, yet from man to rise:
From seers august, from Enoch's olden time
To him of Patmos, all their voice unite
In diapáson terribly distinct;
Denouncing woes, beyond what Time hath seen
Or this world suffer'd, ere apostate Rome
Be ruin'd, or millennial splendours reign.
And though, by ardency of hope inspired,
The distant future in fond dreams we scan,
Enraptured, and those sun-gilt peaks admire,
Deck'd by the radiance of a blissful dawn;
Just as the mountains of our world appear
In the blue distance, lined in lofty range
And harmonised by one unbroken swell,
With no dark gulf beneath them,—so may Hope
Too often on the heights prophetic gaze,
And merge, and melt them in soft unity;
Though black the gloom, and dreadful the abyss
Of wrath and judgment that between them frowns.

A bridge of ages in prophetic time
Our Dispensation is, by heaven decreed:

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Inclusively between those seers 'tis rank'd
Who first Emmanuel in His veiling flesh
Predicted, stricken, cursed and crucified
For our acquittal; then,—the Christ enthroned
Crown'd with the royalties of reigning pomp
Millennial. Thus an intervening gulph
The second Advent from the Church divides.

And stern analogy this view confirms,
When teaching ages of th' historic Past
Instruct the Present, not for heaven to hope,
But rather, that our Gentile sun will sink
A bloody occident in wrath and gloom!

And what a warning, would our ears attend,
Nor deaf as adders from the charming voice
Avert them, do the unforgotten scenes
Where Churches, once which miracles endow'd,
Apostles water'd, and the Spirit's grace
Divinely freshen'd with celestial dews,
Preach to the haughty Age we honour now!
Where have they gone, those Daughters of the sea,
Smyrna and Sardis, and the Sisters five
Whose “Angels” oft the loved disciple taught?
And by the shores, where oriental waves
Chime their lone music to the Afric blast,
How perish'd all Tertullian's page unfolds
When Carthage made his apostolic crown,
And martyr'd Cyprian into glory died!
While Hippo, where sublime Augustine mused,
Hath melted down to miserable nought!

These give dread warning, if we wisely make
The Past a preacher to our Present be.
But, sick at heart, and in the head unsound,
And sleek, and satisfied with all we do,
The mountain of our majesty appears
Immoveable! our age, Augustan call'd,
Our arts advanced, our science most complete,
Our wealth enormous, and our wisdom vast,
On land victorious and by sea the same,
While on our Empire sinks no travell'd sun!—
Bloated with privilege, we thus predict
Perpetual glory for the worshipp'd Isle,
Above destruction, and beyond decay.