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

Rock of the Church, and Rest of wearied souls!
Thou that wert bosom'd in the searchless depths
Of uncreated Light, before the world
Roll'd fresh and glittering from almighty Hands,
The hymning Choristers, who harp on high,
Alone the sorrows of Thy love can sing;
Of love, that snatch'd a universe from hell
And oped for man the starry gates of heaven!

Lo! in yon pillar'd hall, amid the hum
Of fierce-tongued soldiers, God incarnate stands
All quivering from the scourge! around they rave,

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And tear His lowly dress with tiger-hands,
Then robe Him in an azure vest, and crown
His godlike temples with entwinèd thorns:
At last, as from His pierced and flesh-torn brow
The heavy blood-drops ooze, with impious jeer
Within His hand the sceptre-reed they place,
And kneel, and bow, and smite His awful head,
And spit upon His grief-worn face, and cry,
“Hail, Monarch of the Jews!”

That mockery's o'er;
And now, to crucifixion see Him led
His cross in front by some Cyrenian borne.
Oh, never yet was such an Altar rear'd!
Oh, never yet was such an Offering slain!
His agony is dumb; they scoff, and taunt,
And grind their murderous teeth, but not a throe
Of ire can ripple His Almighty calm!
Forgiveness is His prayer: The undying souls
Of those long swallow'd in the eternal gulph,
And they who are, and they that shall be born
To battle with the Flesh; the Throne of God,
And all the bright-wing'd Choirs, whose harps shall ring
“Salvation!” through the star-roof'd halls of heaven
To welcome back the Heir of Glory,—these
Are imaged round His heart: and deadly pangs
Force no resentful frown.

At Golgotha
The blessed Christ behold! Upon the Cross,
Upon the cross His holy limbs are stretch'd;
And every nerve and vein is rack'd, and wrench'd,
By agonies unspeakable; and look!
How through His palms the hammer'd nails have pierced,
And through His bare and unresisting feet
The red wounds gape, and bleed! Stupendous hour
Of awful pain,—the martyr'd Son of God
On yon dread Tree uprear'd, the World to save!
Approach! and gaze; and wonder till ye weep!
Convulsive lines of torture grave His face,
And flutter o'er His breast; the veins unroll
In loose and languid stretch, and from His brow
The lukewarm life-stream trickles slowly down,
And clots beneath His feet. His head is bent
Blood-matted o'er His shoulder: while His eyes
Dim-grown, and hollow with the rack, look meek
Upon His butchers round the Cross, who scoff,
And o'er His riven garment cast their lots.

And, lo, with eye upturn'd in voiceless wo,
His Virgin-mother! all a mother's pangs
Of pity for her tortured Son upheave
Her bosom, and array her bloodless cheek;
Nor can the deadly riot of His pains
Chill the warm current of celestial love:
Adown, with tender gaze of truth, He looks,
And to the bosom-partner of his toils
Confides the weeping Mary, to a Son!

And sad, but ignominious Sight! two thieves
In bloody fellowship with Christ are hung:
One turns around, with sidelong-glance of scorn,
To rail, and mutters from his parchèd throat
A hideous jeer: the other, meek and faint,
Dejected cries, “Remember me, O Christ!
When Thou art in the palace of Thy love!”
Divine, and glorious answer! “Ere the Day
Shall die, in Paradise with Me thou'lt walk.”

But, see, in clouds the Sun hath sunk away
As if aghast! A pall of darkness shrouds
The land of Palestine; a speechless gloom
More ghastly than Tartarean night. The hills
Grow dim; the Rivers moan as if in dread;
And men, with quailing limbs and ashy lips
Come forth, and stare, tongue-tied, upon the skies!
And hark: from off the Cross, is loudly heard,
In piercing tones of death, “My God! My God!
Oh, why hast Thou forsaken me?”—Again!
“My God! My God! oh, why dost Thou forsake?”
'Tis o'er! the blood-red Eye is film'd, and shut
Within its socket; 'gainst His weary breast
The last heart-pulse hath beat; and now, behold
In death's pale slumber, while His tender lips
Have sweet compassion printed on their curve,
The Christ! a Sacrifice for lost mankind.

Oh, never since the infant beam of Time
Glanced on the new-born world, was such an hour!
To symbol it, the Temple's veil was rent;
The Sun of Israel set; the God-breathed curse
With holy Blood was blotted out; Earth quail'd
As though some impulse out of Hell had come
To heave her huge foundations! Every rock
And mountain throbb'd, while o'er the muttering Deep
The dismal waters coil'd, as if they fear'd!
And last, the graves themselves unlock'd, and Shades
Stalk'd out, and glided through the quaking Town,
And floated by the living, like faint gleams
Of pallid moonlight o'er some haunted Shrine.

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Hell heard; and shudder'd as it heard the wail
And dying words of Christ; while Satan howl'd
And gnash'd his teeth, amid the furnace-glow
Of everlasting Fires, to know his wrath
Should ne'er be glutted on the World; that Heaven
Was won, and to rebellious Man unbarr'd.
Unbarr'd!—oh, if Imagination may
Plume her young wings, and wander faith-born, there,
A peal more joyous than the choral Stars,
Upon the birth-day of created Worlds,
Re-echoed round her crystal domes; while all
The countless Seraphs wreathed their lustrous wings
In awe, before the lightning-shrouded Throne
Of God invisible; then, woke their harps
To melodies divine, and hail'd The Lamb
Triumphant from His martyrdom below!

Two thousand Years have almost floated down
The gulph of time, since on the glorious Cross
Divinest Martyr! Thou wert nail'd: the world
With all its pageantry and pride prevails;
Men smile and struggle, labour, sin, and die
As if Thy Blood had never blotted out
The crimes of earth; as if, at last, Thy might
And majesty should not appear! Still, Thou
Hast prophesied, again the Incarnate God
This earth will visit and her dead restore.—
But, not as homeless orphan of the world,
To wander on in pain and wo, and weep,
And perish on the Tree; but on Thy car
Of lightning, rolling from unfathom'd depths
Of heaven, while seraphs robed in radiant light,
Brandish their glitt'ring banners o'er Thy throne,
And all the clouds like burning billows flash
And bound beneath Thy feet!—The Trump shall peal
That dead-awakening blast, more full and loud
Than thunder in its deepest roar: the Sea
Shall yawn, and all her buried hosts arise;
The graves burst open, and the dust unite
Into a living Form; and then, shall come
The Judgment, and our Everlasting Doom!