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The Sanctuary

A Companion in Verse for the English Prayer Book. By Robert Montgomery

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Dearth and Famine.
  
  
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Dearth and Famine.

“Grant that the scarcity and dearth which we do now most justly suffer, for our iniquity, may through Thy goodness, be mercifully turned into cheapness and plenty.” —Prayer Book.

Some broken whispers of The Name Divine
Float through this fallen world of ours,
But, Conscience cannot into words combine,
Or, explicate, with all her powers,
What mean those whispers, when The Law is nigh,
And thunders, “pay me!” or, a bankrupt, die!
Oft, when Affliction's more than midnight-pall
Enwraps our destiny below,
Or, sight and sound forgotten crimes recall,
As imaged by judicial woe,—
From the dread heart of deep Eternity,
Comes Vengeance, clad with direst mystery!
Searching and sounding Thought's unpierced abyss
When Science gropes its way to God,
Who, by a mental path, perplexed like this,
The ground of sainted virtue trod?—
Alas, for Cain-like spirits! who can dare
To find in reason, what must flow from prayer.

75

They stumble on, for ever, more and more,
In dimness, doubt, and secret dread,
Who will not God Himself in Christ adore,
And are not by His Spirit led;
Their church, Self-will, their Decalogue the same,—
How can such heathens bear the Christian name?
O! timely meek, and thus, made truly wise,
Child of the Church, Lord, let me live;
Anoint by faith our spirit's inward eyes,
And in Thy word those comforts give
Which neither blast, nor blight, nor famines reach,
Where'er they echo what Thy warnings teach!
Eden of Isles, though blissful England be,
Glory and Garden of all lands,
'Tis only while her children worship Thee,
Round her green clime that grace expands
From whence our wave-rock'd paradise can smile,
And prove, O Lord! Thy consecrated Isle.
The boundless Universe is but thy slave,
Its Faculties Thy vassals are;
And in the womb, as in the whelming grave,
Both life and death obey Thee, there;
Famine and food alike from Thee descend,
By Wisdom fitted for some moral end.
Whether from rainless cloud, or cruel war,
The with'ring scourge of Scarceness come,
Truth sees in all those miseries that mar
The peace, and preciousness of home,
Not second Causes!—to the FIRST we soar,
Who holds creation's granaries in store.
Famine and dearth, dread God! Thy vengeance sent,
On Canaan's realm, and Egypt's clime;
When, curs'd by Thee, the parchèd firmament
Refused the rain, in fair spring-time:
'Twas thus of old, Thy penal frowns did fall,
And back the godless unto Heaven recall.

76

But from thy lips, O lion-hearted Seer!
Samaria's cry for mercy rose;
And, hark! on prostrate Ahab's ear,
The answering rain-flood quickly flows:—
E'en while he prays, the blacken'd clouds dispart,
And all their freshness in full shower impart!
But, Thou art still the ever-changeless God,
Whose heaven Elijah ope'd by prayer,
And, while we tremble at Thy Judgment-rod,
Receive our Litanies, and “spare
Thy punish'd ones, who in this trial-hour,
Adore Thy Goodness, while they dread Thy power.
Giver of food! Thou art Almighty Bread,
The Manna of immortal souls,
Deprived of Whom, the living are the dead,
Whatever fate such life controls;
Celestial nutriment our spirits need,
And Christ is He, on Whom disciples feed.
Whatever dearth these famish'd bodies feel,
Food of the Soul! if Thou be nigh
Thy Saints will bear it with heroic zeal,
And greet the death 'tis gain to die,
For all who crucify the flesh-born will
And drink the Cup which Christ has deign'd to fill.
 

Gen. iv. 3.

Ps. cxix. 91.

John vi. 35.

Phil. i. 31.

Matt. xx. 22.