The Sanctuary A Companion in Verse for the English Prayer Book. By Robert Montgomery |
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Collect for Peace.
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 | The Sanctuary |  |
42
Collect for Peace.
“O God, Who art the Author of Peace, and Lover of Concord.”
Prayer Book.
Peace cannot live from Purity apart,
Nor find a temple in the fleshly heart:
But when affections chaste and lowly
The soul anoint, and make it holy,
A Saint becomes a living shrine
For deepest calm of Love Divine.
Nor find a temple in the fleshly heart:
But when affections chaste and lowly
The soul anoint, and make it holy,
A Saint becomes a living shrine
For deepest calm of Love Divine.
Yet, conscience, not condition, peace attains,
Since life is warfare with mysterious pains;
While, all around us, fiends and foes
Mingle, and multiply our woes,
And from the cradle to the grave
Christ's army must His banner wave.
Since life is warfare with mysterious pains;
While, all around us, fiends and foes
Mingle, and multiply our woes,
And from the cradle to the grave
Christ's army must His banner wave.
In the dread language of the Holy Ghost,—
Legions of Angels, from the Lord's bright Host,
Camp'd round the warring Church of old:
But in the Prince of Peace, behold!
The blandness of that “better” way
Our Christian Zion shows to-day.
Legions of Angels, from the Lord's bright Host,
Camp'd round the warring Church of old:
But in the Prince of Peace, behold!
The blandness of that “better” way
Our Christian Zion shows to-day.
What, though we combat with some clashing ill,
The halcyon-breath of holiness can still
The fevers in man's restless heart,
And tranquillising grace impart,—
Serenity of soul within
Which broods o'er baffled self, and sin.
The halcyon-breath of holiness can still
The fevers in man's restless heart,
And tranquillising grace impart,—
Serenity of soul within
Which broods o'er baffled self, and sin.
But, who interprets what is meant by “peace,”
Or weighs the treasures of that true release
When rolls away our legal curse,
And nothing in God's universe
Impinges on that secret Plan
Where “all things work” for pardon'd Man?
Or weighs the treasures of that true release
When rolls away our legal curse,
And nothing in God's universe
Impinges on that secret Plan
Where “all things work” for pardon'd Man?
43
Sickness and sorrow, anguish, grief, and gloom,
All blended trials which precede the tomb,
Dread though they look, to carnal sense,—
Foil'd by a spell of faith, dispense
Their healing magic to the mind,
And work some charm by Heaven design'd.
All blended trials which precede the tomb,
Dread though they look, to carnal sense,—
Foil'd by a spell of faith, dispense
Their healing magic to the mind,
And work some charm by Heaven design'd.
While penance-fires of ever-during pain
Burn the pierced hearts where sins unpardon'd reign,—
Broods o'er each saint a mystic Dove,
Who shadows with the wings of love
That Spirit, with whose bosom-lot
A stranger intermeddles not.
Burn the pierced hearts where sins unpardon'd reign,—
Broods o'er each saint a mystic Dove,
Who shadows with the wings of love
That Spirit, with whose bosom-lot
A stranger intermeddles not.
God of such peace! Thy lulling grace impart;
Be to Thy Church, what in Thyself Thou art,—
“Lover of Concord,” in Whose light
All “service” is a freedom bright;
While grace and glory flow from Thee
To fill our vast eternity!
Be to Thy Church, what in Thyself Thou art,—
“Lover of Concord,” in Whose light
All “service” is a freedom bright;
While grace and glory flow from Thee
To fill our vast eternity!
Perill'd we are; but, panoplied with charms
Destined to keep the soul from sinful harms,
Saints enter on Life's battle-fields;
And, cover'd by celestial shields,
They are not crush'd by earth, or hell,
But face them both, and fight them well!
Destined to keep the soul from sinful harms,
Saints enter on Life's battle-fields;
And, cover'd by celestial shields,
They are not crush'd by earth, or hell,
But face them both, and fight them well!
“Hosannah!” then, to Thee, Thou Prince of Peace,
Never Thy sacramental Host will cease
Beneath Thy boundless throne to cry,—
On Whom our hopes for heaven rely,
And round Whose Form, as Priest, and King,
Adoring Worlds due homage bring.
Never Thy sacramental Host will cease
Beneath Thy boundless throne to cry,—
On Whom our hopes for heaven rely,
And round Whose Form, as Priest, and King,
Adoring Worlds due homage bring.
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