The Apostles' Creed.
“He that cometh unto God must believe that He is.”
—Heb. xi. 6.
Like infant-birds, when first they soar and sing
And flutter upward with imperfect wing,
Mount the young feelings of a virgin Heart
To where, O Living Sun of Souls! Thou art.
Trembling on timid plume, they yearn to rise,
Nobly attracted by congenial skies,
Yet, oft they quiver with a downward fall
As though the earth would back their flight recall.
When thus the world our gravitation proves,
The heart sinks earthward to the soil it loves;
Till faith seems baffled in its lofty soar
And leaves the Man terrestrial as before.
Living “epistles,”
writ by God's own pen,
Whose lips say “credo,” and whose lives, “amen,”—
How often thus the envious charms of Earth
Subdue th' attraction of their spirit-birth!
A distance of indwelling sin there lies
Between the “credo” which Confession cries,
And what we practise with regen'rate will
Whose law is,—“though He slay thee, trust Him still!”
E'en to the last, mysterious life is found
A war of Principle, on Passion's ground,
Which sainted Heroes dare alone to face
When duly panoplied with inward grace.
As all things, save itself, our eye surveys,—
The world we scan, but not our own bad ways;
While bland Deception, with her blinding charm
Guides the veil'd progress of an inward harm.
And thus, baptised idolators may be
In Temples, dedicate to Deity,
Who, while they glorify Jehovah's claim
Commit Self-worship in that awful Name.
Yet, not for this, reject that time-hoar'd Creed
For which the Church hath vow'd to burn, and bleed,
Or, grasp uninjured to her latest breath,
And enter with it through the gates of Death.
Type, or Deposit, Form, or Trust, or Rule,
Whate'er the name,—that Creed becomes a school
Where perfect doctrines educate the soul
And lead it God-ward, with a just control.
Quintessence exquisite of saving Truth
For rev'rend Age, or more impassion'd Youth,—
The pure aroma of a Book Divine
Where breathes the Spirit through each burning line,
Such is that Creed—whose apostolic Source
Affects the conscience with persuasive force;
And, when we hear it round our Temples ring,
Plumes the glad soul as with seraphic wing.
Oh! that our character and creed might move
In one sweet parallel of perfect love!
Oh! that those lips which utter, “I believe,”
Echo'd brave hearts, which ne'er Christ's banner leave!
Thou only Giver of faith's glorious heart,
Celestial Teacher of the Truth Thou art;
Impress our spirits more and more to feel
That Life must practise, what our lips reveal.
Such the Confession which our Lord approves,
The Scriptures sanction, and the Godhead loves,
Whose words embody what no speech can say—
A living comment on the Truth, and Way.
