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

“Ye are the salt of the earth ------ ye are the light of the world ------ let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.”—Matt. v. 13, 14, 16.

The World exults to crucify
The truth it loathes to feel;
And thus, all time repeats the Cross,
And Christians must through shame and loss
Maintain a martyr-zeal.

They cannot on this impious earth
Expect a brighter doom
Than that the Prince of Glory bore,
When He rebuked the world of yore,
And gain'd a borrow'd tomb.

But not for this, with craven hearts
And love of selfish ease
Shrink they from conflict, or the crowd,
And in dull cloister bent and bow'd
Enjoy a bad release.

Alas! for their religious mock
Whose creed is Self disguised;
Our sacrament of second birth
Anoints us to contend with earth;—
Have we our unction prized?

The heavenliness of blissful calm
In some poetic shade,
Where nature is the nurse of thought,
And all seems with religion fraught
And for devotion made;

For this indeed, mild spirits yearn,
And long for dove-like wings
Away to flee, and be at rest
With God and angels purely blest
Above terrestrial things.

Hence, most divine to musing hearts
When sick of toil and strife,
Monastic bowers of peace and prayer
Where time intrudes no fev'rish care
To fret the saintly life.

But, where is then the martyr's will?—
That oath by which we vow'd
Under Christ's banner, in His name,
To battle for His crown and claim
Amid earth's warring crowd?

Mistaken victims of themselves!
Who violate their creed
And fly with recreant heart and will,
Instead of facing stern and still
The front of battle's need;

'Tis not by flight or fear we gain
The jewell'd crown of bliss;
But by enduring unto death,
And battling to our latest breath,
We claim reward like this.

The world is dark, the world is dead,
Corruption broods in all;
Those painted splendours which appear
Glitter like spangles on a bier,
And worse than gloom appal.

Hero for heaven, baptised and brave,
The vow is on thee,—fight!
Full at the Fiend, the flesh, and world
Be all thy weapon'd graces hurl'd,
And God shall guard the right.

Or, if thou wilt the mystic words
Of “light” and “salt” translate,—
Then, shine by contrast in the dark,
And by correction probe and mark
The evils of our state.

We live in evil times; and tongues
Against the truth contend;
When Motive, Principle, and Power,
Around us in rebellion tower
And loud their challenge send.

Then, soldier, put thine armour on
And wield thy weapons bright;
With spear and breastplate, sword and shield,
Thus panoplied,—go, take the field
And foremost fall, or fight!

How can we “shine,” unless we face
A world of guilt and gloom?
Or, be like salt's corrective force,
By hallow'd deed, or high discourse,
If life itself entomb?

Earth needs the grace, and wants the beams
Embodied grace imparts,
When worldlings view a valiant band
Maintain with hope and heart and hand
The creed of sainted hearts.

A cloister's gloom, a cowl, and cell
May oft a mind conceal,
Where rancour, pride, and envy reign,
While Passion gnaws a viler chain
Than fettered world-slaves feel.

Lord of the Church! of creeds, and souls,
Thy wisdom make our own,
Not of, but in, this world to be,
And hear the summons, “Follow me,”
From manger to the throne.

Contention with a godless world,—
Here is our law of life:
The salt must spread, the light must shine,
Unless we cross the will divine
And sink from duteous strife.

'Tis easy when the flesh-born will
In solitude retires,
To choose the calm of constant prayer,
And thus avoid the fretting care
A public fate inspires.

But, social is the cause of God;
And Christ demands a creed
That shall not seek monastic shade
Of all but righteous self afraid,—
But front the dreadest need.

True salt and sunlight make us, Lord!
Thy Spirit forms them both;
So may we best Thy word obey,
And rev'rence thus by night and day
Our sacramental oath.

The crowded world Thy Sceptre rules;
And Thou not less art there,
Than in the lull of lone retreat;
And saints may thy pure guidance meet
In duties ev'ry-where.

But while we seek to shine and act,
In all our words and ways
Thy veil, Humility! bestow,
And over us protection throw,
Lest we aspire for praise.

100

The work, but not the worker, seen,—
Behold! a heaven-drawn plan
For saints to lead their life in God;
Such path a Saviour's virtue trod
And made it bright for man.