 | The Poetical Works of Robert Montgomery |  |
THE PRAYERLESS.
“Thou restrainest prayer before God.”—Job xv. 4.
“If thou knewest the gift of God ------ thou wouldest have asked of Him, and He would have given thee living water.”—John iv. 10.
“My heart is cold, I cannot pray,”
Methinks I hear the worldling say;—
But is not this blind nature's sin?
Thou graceless outcast! lift thine eyes
To where man's home of glory lies,
And thou may'st hear the God within.
Methinks I hear the worldling say;—
But is not this blind nature's sin?
Thou graceless outcast! lift thine eyes
To where man's home of glory lies,
And thou may'st hear the God within.
Did we but fathom more and more
Our inward deeps, we should deplore
Those unborn sins which there abide:
With truthful anguish might we plead
For God to help our sinful need,
And cast us on The Crucified!
Our inward deeps, we should deplore
Those unborn sins which there abide:
With truthful anguish might we plead
For God to help our sinful need,
And cast us on The Crucified!
Who does not pray, our God unthrones,
His word rejects, His will disowns,
Till life becomes one guilty sigh;
Pure Reason from her shrine is hurl'd,
And earth appears an orphan'd world,
Whose Maker is no more on high.
His word rejects, His will disowns,
Till life becomes one guilty sigh;
Pure Reason from her shrine is hurl'd,
And earth appears an orphan'd world,
Whose Maker is no more on high.
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O, creed of death! and cold despair,
Which thus repels the power of prayer,
By peerless saints and martyrs loved;
Since faith and reason both unite
To vindicate God's awful right,
By prayer to have His throne approved.
Which thus repels the power of prayer,
By peerless saints and martyrs loved;
Since faith and reason both unite
To vindicate God's awful right,
By prayer to have His throne approved.
The very Power to whom we pray
Is He who prompteth what to say,—
'Tis spirit, more than spoken word;
For thought is speech, and heard on high
The sadness of some low-breathed sigh,
When penitence by love is stirr'd.
Is He who prompteth what to say,—
'Tis spirit, more than spoken word;
For thought is speech, and heard on high
The sadness of some low-breathed sigh,
When penitence by love is stirr'd.
Alas! for thee, thou prayerless one,
Thy living hell is now begun
In passion blind, and base desire;
The torment of apostate will
Must ever make thy chosen ill,
And fill thee with perdition's fire.
Thy living hell is now begun
In passion blind, and base desire;
The torment of apostate will
Must ever make thy chosen ill,
And fill thee with perdition's fire.
Could vain men see how vile they are,
Sublime would beat the pulse of prayer
In temple, home, or twilight-field;
Believing thus with loving thought
What strength to Christ Himself it brought,—
Pure bliss would high devotion yield.
Sublime would beat the pulse of prayer
In temple, home, or twilight-field;
Believing thus with loving thought
What strength to Christ Himself it brought,—
Pure bliss would high devotion yield.
But, dost thou mourn thy heart is cold,
And rev'rence truth divinely bold?
Then, undevout one, here it lies,—
Th' unfeeling soul, and faithless mind,
Oh, these are they which render blind
When upward gaze thy restless eyes.
And rev'rence truth divinely bold?
Then, undevout one, here it lies,—
Th' unfeeling soul, and faithless mind,
Oh, these are they which render blind
When upward gaze thy restless eyes.
This world is far too closely coil'd
Around a heart by pleasure soil'd,
Where sin, desire, and Satan dwell;
Ambition's guilt and lust of gain
Within thee hold infernal reign,
And triumph with a wizard spell.
Around a heart by pleasure soil'd,
Where sin, desire, and Satan dwell;
Ambition's guilt and lust of gain
Within thee hold infernal reign,
And triumph with a wizard spell.
But wouldst thou taste the bliss of prayer,
Breathing on earth celestial air?
Then, burst thy Belial chains away!
Each wand'ring thought to God call home,
And ponder on the world to-come
Till conscience prompt thee how to pray.
Breathing on earth celestial air?
Then, burst thy Belial chains away!
Each wand'ring thought to God call home,
And ponder on the world to-come
Till conscience prompt thee how to pray.
Go, learn it of that martyr'd host
Who bled for Christ, and pray'd the most
Because they loved Him unto death;
Hark! how their wingèd raptures rise,
And catch the lustre of their eyes
Who praised Him with departing breath.
Who bled for Christ, and pray'd the most
Because they loved Him unto death;
Hark! how their wingèd raptures rise,
And catch the lustre of their eyes
Who praised Him with departing breath.
Or, rather That pure Spirit seek,
Whose love can so uplift the weak
When dull they seem, and dead they grow,
Till oft with mental groans unheard
Their souls by unbreathed prayer are stirr'd,
And with devotion overflow.
Whose love can so uplift the weak
When dull they seem, and dead they grow,
Till oft with mental groans unheard
Their souls by unbreathed prayer are stirr'd,
And with devotion overflow.
Incarnate God! while here we live,
Be this our prayer, “Forgive! forgive!”—
But, who can fathom all we mean?
Eternity itself will prove
A paraphrase of pardoning love,
And teach Heaven what the Cross hath been!
Be this our prayer, “Forgive! forgive!”—
But, who can fathom all we mean?
Eternity itself will prove
A paraphrase of pardoning love,
And teach Heaven what the Cross hath been!
| The Poetical Works of Robert Montgomery | |