The Sanctuary A Companion in Verse for the English Prayer Book. By Robert Montgomery |
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Deliverance from Plague.
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 | The Sanctuary |  |
99
Deliverance from Plague.
“In the midst of judgment remembering mercy, hast redeemed
our souls from the jaws of death.”
—Prayer Book.
That inward cowardice of palsied will
Fainting and faltr'ing, at the word, “Be still,
“Be still, and know that I am God”
Though sternly fall the Judgment-rod,—
The Children of the Church, O, Lord,
Whose heaven is in Thy holy Word,
Such cowardice, by faith's heroic spell
Have wisely master'd, and resisted well.
Fainting and faltr'ing, at the word, “Be still,
“Be still, and know that I am God”
Though sternly fall the Judgment-rod,—
The Children of the Church, O, Lord,
Whose heaven is in Thy holy Word,
Such cowardice, by faith's heroic spell
Have wisely master'd, and resisted well.
Yet, though endurance be the law of Faith,
When Pestilence hath ceased a clime to scathe,
Celestial hearts may sing and soar
And that dread Trinity adore,
Who in fierce judgment feel for Man,
Pursue on high Their mercy-plan,
And, while pale Empires draw contagious breath,
Deliver myriads from the jaws of Death.
When Pestilence hath ceased a clime to scathe,
Celestial hearts may sing and soar
And that dread Trinity adore,
Who in fierce judgment feel for Man,
Pursue on high Their mercy-plan,
And, while pale Empires draw contagious breath,
Deliver myriads from the jaws of Death.
Great God! it was indeed, Thy wrathful day
When in our streets unburied corses lay,
While gloom sepulchral, deep as dread,
O'er hearts and homes was thickly spread,
And chills of damping awe oppress'd
Each pulse that play'd in Sorrow's breast,
Till friends shrank frighted, if perchance, they met,
As though man wonder'd, man was living, yet!
When in our streets unburied corses lay,
While gloom sepulchral, deep as dread,
O'er hearts and homes was thickly spread,
And chills of damping awe oppress'd
Each pulse that play'd in Sorrow's breast,
Till friends shrank frighted, if perchance, they met,
As though man wonder'd, man was living, yet!
But, if when sickness, fang'd with fearful pains,
Rends the worn flesh, and like a Demon reigns,
And fresh-dug grave, and frequent knell,
The triumphs of destruction tell,
While sackcloth'd Guilt, with groaning prayer
Her litany of woe declares,—
When dies the Plague, and Pestilence departs,
“We praise thee, God,” sing all regenerate hearts!
Rends the worn flesh, and like a Demon reigns,
And fresh-dug grave, and frequent knell,
The triumphs of destruction tell,
100
Her litany of woe declares,—
When dies the Plague, and Pestilence departs,
“We praise thee, God,” sing all regenerate hearts!
Oh, blest revival! when the bloom and blush
Of health return, and in one glowing rush
Tides of enchantment seem to roll
Through each glad vein, with such control
That lip and limb, and heart and eyes
Are touched with new-born energies,
And earth and heaven that hue of glory wear
That beams and brightens through some answer'd prayer.
Of health return, and in one glowing rush
Tides of enchantment seem to roll
Through each glad vein, with such control
That lip and limb, and heart and eyes
Are touched with new-born energies,
And earth and heaven that hue of glory wear
That beams and brightens through some answer'd prayer.
And yet, in such millennial glee of mind,
Fond mem'ry cannot leave the lost behind!
For blanks remain in home and heart,
And sorrows deep which ne'er depart,
While crowded graves, in churchyards tell,
How darkly frowns Almighty fell
On true affections, in their fullest power,
When God descended in His judgment-hour!
Fond mem'ry cannot leave the lost behind!
For blanks remain in home and heart,
And sorrows deep which ne'er depart,
While crowded graves, in churchyards tell,
How darkly frowns Almighty fell
On true affections, in their fullest power,
When God descended in His judgment-hour!
Thus, gladness hath a touch of holy grief
To shade the brightness of our blest relief;—
E'en as of old, the Temple-wall
Did to each time-hoar'd Saint recall
The vanished Shrine of other days
Reared to Jehovah's awful praise,—
So that, 'mid shouting joy, they wept and wailed,
And mirth and melancholy, by turns, prevailed.
To shade the brightness of our blest relief;—
E'en as of old, the Temple-wall
Did to each time-hoar'd Saint recall
The vanished Shrine of other days
Reared to Jehovah's awful praise,—
So that, 'mid shouting joy, they wept and wailed,
And mirth and melancholy, by turns, prevailed.
Hence, gracious Lord, this lauding hour perceives
A mental shadow for the dead which grieves:
Though brightning Mercy strew our path
Where daily life its duty hath,
Ghosts of gone joy around us float
And, mingled with each mirthful note,
Sighs from the deep of aching Hearts declare
The lost lies buried by affection, there!
A mental shadow for the dead which grieves:
Though brightning Mercy strew our path
Where daily life its duty hath,
Ghosts of gone joy around us float
And, mingled with each mirthful note,
Sighs from the deep of aching Hearts declare
The lost lies buried by affection, there!
| The Sanctuary | |