The Gospel Miracles :: :: University of Virginia Library

As one who loves some pleasant hill to rove,
About whose foot a lovely landscape lies;
Thence scans each well-known object from above,
And feeds with fresh delight his curious eyes:

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The bow'r of bliss; the fruitful paradise;
The flow'ry bank, where bees their labour ply;
The silver stream, that lively health supplies;
The grove of arching shade and verdant die;
The lake whose crystal face reflects the azure sky:

So I from this my speculative height,
With dear delight the Saviour's life to trace,
Throw on the scene below the excursive sight,
And one by one, as each succeeds in place,
With my mind's eye each storied charm embrace:
Commanding might is here, compassion kind,
And wisdom mild, and mercy's gentle grace;
The voice that breath'd refreshment; and the mind,
Where heav'n's eternal light with purest radiance shin'd.

“'Tis goodly to be here;” so Peter said,
When Jesus deign'd in glory to appear.
To see that glory in his works display'd
Pleas'd I exclaim, “'Tis goodly to be here.”
So to his praise I seek a shrine to rear,
Too mean, alas! and fram'd with feeble art.
Yet would I fain from themes, my soul that cheer,
Thoughts of delight to those I love impart,
And Him my tribute pay from no unwilling heart.

Then forth, my little book! But, ere thou go,
Now on the threshold yet a moment hold,
And once again to Him thy homage show,
Whose acts of wonder, in his Book inroll'd,
Thy strains, alas! have all too weakly told.
One marvel more the parting lay demands,
Passing those acts of wonder manifold.
Not seen by faith the vast memorial stands,
But by our eyes beheld, and handled by our hands.

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“Go!” said the Saviour; “roam the peopled earth:
Go, and my Gospel to the nations teach!
From Sion's mountain let the word go forth;
To Judah's children, to Samaria's, preach:
And thence to men of every clime and speech,
Thro' towered town, thro' tented wilderness,
To the world's confines let the tidings reach:
Till all my precepts hear, my truth confess,
The cleansing bath receive, the triune Godhead bless!”

So forth they went: the simple fisherman,
Fresh from the labours of Tiberias' sea;
The craftsman mean; the outcast publican,
Fresh from the tolls of slighted Galilee,
A name akin to sin and infamy:
Things foolish, weak, ignoble; things of naught,
'Gainst pow'r, and learning, rank, and dignity:
The world intrench'd in its strong holds they sought,
And with the world's elect the world's offscourings fought.

Then pride, self-glorious, with o'erweening frown,
And self-styl'd wisdom from her dizzy height
On the spurn'd cross contemptuous looking down;
And priestly policy with fond delight
Of pomp, and gorgeous fane, and incens'd rite;
And the blind rage of popular affray;
And passion clinging to the deeds of night;
And warlike glory; and imperial sway;
Leagu'd 'gainst that feeble band in terrible array.

Then came the taunt, the menace, and the scorn;
The charge reproachful, and the opprobrious name;
The limbs, with fetters bruis'd, with scourges torn;
The house of bondage, and the stamp of shame;

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The cross, the sword, the stoning, and the flame;
The prison'd monster from his foodless den
Lanc'd on his fated prey; if aught might tame
The dauntless spirit of those humble men,
And to the tomb consign the Crucified again.

Then too the doom, with outstretch'd limbs to feel,
'Mid the throng'd theatre's insulting sound,
The fire bright blazing thro' the grated steel;
Or in the lion's skin inwrapp'd and wound,
To bear the torture of the worrying hound;
The burning ordeal of the iron chair
Fast fix'd to bide; or closely girdled round,
With chin impal'd, the pitchy shirt to wear,
And light the midnight gloom with strange portentous glare.

Ah, spare the fearful tale! For who can love
At large the instruments of death to tell,
With which begirt the world's defenders strove,
By superstition sharpen'd, fierce and fell,
And temper'd from the armoury of hell,
From its firm hold the faithful soul to fray?
Ev'n at the thought of such dread spectacle,
Smit to the heart with anguish and dismay,
Recoiling nature shrinks, and sick'ning turns away.

But they, the weak, the foolish, and the mean,
What weapons brought they to the battle field?
Not theirs the arms, for fleshly combats keen,
Which worldly counsels to their warriors yield,
And the strong sons of worldly prowess wield.
But tho' unarm'd with sword or brandish'd dart,
With strength unearthly for the conflict steel'd,
Theirs the bold bearing of the lion heart,
And theirs, not less resolv'd, the lamb-like sufferer's part.

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Theirs was the courage, firm, enduring, meek,
More prompt to bless the smiter, than to smite:
The lip of truth, which dar'd unshrinking speak
In shame's, in bonds', in stripes', in death's despite,
Things they had witness'd with their ears and sight:
The virtuous action, and the guileless thought;
The signs, and wonders, and the deeds of might;
The heaven-sent eloquence; the tongue untaught:
Thus arm'd, the world they brav'd, and with its champions fought.

They fought, and conquer'd! At the Gospel rays
Fades the reflected light of Israel,
As fades the moon before the solar blaze.
Samaria feels the triumph onward swell:
Heav'n's queen from Sidon's ancient citadel,
The god of light from Syrian Daphne fails;
Egyptian Isis in her mystick cell,
In her rich fane Ephesian Dian quails;
And Athens' martial hill “the unknown Godhead” hails.

Their spicy gifts Arabia's princes bring;
Swart Ethiopia spreads her arms abroad;
With Afric, Spain adores Judea's King;
Bithynia, Pontus, hymn the Christian's God:
O'er untill'd wastes by Scythian wanderers trod,
In Britain's isles 'mid many an oaken grove,
The blood-red priests have kiss'd Messiah's rod:
And, lo, the Cross, in Rome's proud banner wove,
Floats o'er the moveless rock of Capitolian Jove.

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Was it their arm, 'gainst the world's pow'r and pride
That waged the battle, and the palm achiev'd?
As well to climb heav'n's concave had they tried,
Or from its base the earth's firm fabrick heav'd.
'Twas He, from whom the blind their sight receiv'd,
Who gave the dumb to speak, to rise the dead,
And of his prey the silenc'd fiend bereav'd:
He o'er the earth life, light, and blessing shed;
He bade the Gospel speed, and he the Gospel sped.

As when his will a stately tree would raise,
Meet plume to grace some lofty Carmel's brow,
In earth's soft lap the slender seed he lays;
And now the bursting germ shoots forth, and now
The stem up-springs, the leaf unfolds, the bough
Spreads here and there; and still, as on it grows,
(We sleep and rise the while, and know not how,)
Wide and more wide its branching arms it throws,
And in its spacious shade the shelt'ring birds repose:—

Or would he fain a great Euphrates make,
He bids the waste a trickling spring distill;
On some lone rock, from some unnotic'd lake,
Wells forth from crag to crag a scanty rill;
With runnels swoln from many a neighbouring hill,
Now broad, and deep, and strong, the waters glide,
And scorning all control, the valley fill,
Where meadows smile, and cattle graze beside;
The exulting shepherd hails the fertilizing tide:—

So by his wisdom sown, tho' small at first,
The goodly cedar of the Gospel grew;
So by his care, a gentle streamlet, nurst,
The Gospel flood afar its waters threw:

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The gather'd nations to the covert flew,
O'erjoy'd repose and shelter there to find;
The sons of men, instinct with being new,
Drank of its wave, and on its banks reclin'd,
And blest the all-forming Hand, the all-disposing Mind.

Then praise to Him by each, by all, be paid,
Whose sires obscur'd by pagan darkness lay,
Or in the twilight of Judea's shade,
What time he gave his glorious Gospel way!
And as his saints the mighty deeds display,
Which one by one the Saviour's glory tell,
Still fail we not, amid the bright array,
To mark, the breast while conscious raptures swell,
That one, the crown of all, that last, best, miracle!

Yes! 'tis by that, that crowning act of might,
Which made his Gospel to the nations known,
That now we walk amid celestial light,
“To moles and bats” our fathers' “idols thrown:”
Nor the deep forest seek, and mountain lone,
Where, shed by sacred hands, a brother's blood
Stream'd in red torrents from the altar-stone;
Or huge, and blazing in the fiery flood,
With living victims throng'd the osier'd image stood.

That other offerings, other rites, arose,
Than such as steep'd in gore her Woden's throne,
Thanks to that pow'r enlighten'd Britain owes,
Whence o'er her isles the Gospel rays were sown.
And O! by all, who that blest Gospel own,
Be fruitage, worthy of the heavenly lore,
Pure hearts, chaste words, and holy actions shewn;
Be theirs that pearl of mighty price to store,
Jehovah God obey, and Him in Christ adore!

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Now forth, my little book, and fare thee well!
Thine has it been, in many an hour of gloom,
'Mid anxious thoughts, that on the spirit dwell,
To make for high and heavenly musings room,
And open gleams of sunshine, which illume
Our darkling path: and thine on this fair scene
In brighter hours to shed a lovelier bloom,
To clothe with purer light yon azure sheen,
And lend the verdant earth a softer, sweeter green.

Farewell! And, O! if haply thou mayst wake
Congenial feelings in some other breast,
Cause on the heart a fairer view to break,
Or lull the storm of anxious thought to rest,
For those most wish'd for, whom I love the best;
Joy to the poet! But to Him belong
Alone the glory, and His name be blest,
Whose acts of might have caus'd the poet's song,
Whose will can raise the mean, and make the feeble strong!

Yes, if to cheer the drooping heart, or raise
The earth-prest soul to holy things above,
If aught may flow from these unboastful lays
To grace His deeds of majesty and love;
Praise to the Giver! Lord, if thou approve,
Well it sufficeth. But should thy dread frown
The rash emprise or worthless act reprove,
Vain were the meed of dearly-earn'd renown,
The world's applausive shout, the poet's laurel crown.

Alas, that man should e'er with guilty stain
Blur the fair form of heaven-born Poesy,
Debasing God's pure gift with dross profane
Of passion vile, and mad impiety!

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Fair is her form, when, from pollution free,
On virtue's ear her kindred strain she pours:
But then most fair, when, sanctified by Thee,
Fountain of good, on seraph wing she soars,
And seeks her native home, and meekly there adores!