University of Virginia Library

The Pleasures of Faith.

Bright Goddess—who, with eagle eye sublime,
Look'st upward to yon high celestial clime,
Whose beatific charms from bondage free—
Say, Power benignant! dare I sing of thee?
Yes! though untaught to strike the classic lyre,
And touch the bosom with ecstatic fire;
Though doom'd to toil in labour's irksome cell,
Far from the scenes where wealth and honour dwell;
Though starr'd to brave misfortune's sweeping surge,
And oft o'erwhelm'd below the swelling gorge—
Warm rolls the torrent o'er my thrilling soul,
Poetic rapture spurning all control:
I raise my voice to sing thy joys, O Faith!
Which cheer the saint through the dark vale of death,
While, 'neath thy brilliant rays, he draws his latest breath.
I court no Muse on pure Olympus' height
To guide me in the high, the heavenward flight;
Thy aid, O Deity, I crave alone,
Who sitt'st on heaven's bright angel-circled throne;
Thy aid, that thou, in mercy, wouldst reveal
The vision fair; and, while I sing it, feel
The sweets ambrosial which it can impart,
The only opiate for the sinful heart.
Keen memory a backward look may throw
On joys departed, shorn of all their woe;
And who can view his childhood's scenery bright,
Yet feel no filmy tear bedim his sight?
But all is fled! fled, never to return,
Inclosed for aye in Time's chaotic urn!
Hope's magic power may gild our youthful days
With fleeting scenes through fancy's florid maze;

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May ope bright visions to the dazzled eye
Which in the end appear illusions sly;
May spur to action, yet, when all is done,
Her darling object may not then be won:
Her warmest feelings, when most sternly fix'd,
With doubts and fears are still profusely mix'd.
But Faith displays no mind-deceiving dream
Of pleasure, gliding down the fatal stream
Where smoothly sails her gilded bark along,
Till headlong hurl'd sheer ruin's rocks among.
No! 'twas no weak, delusive, vague demur
Made Abra'am leave the fertile plains of Ur,
While, inly prompted by that Power divine,
He roam'd the distant land of Palestine;
Nor wild illusions of the vagrant mind
Caused him, in age, believe an heir to find,
From whom a race as num'rous, and as bright,
Should spring, as stars that gild the vault of night.
How bless'd the vision of the faithful sire,
To see, among that race, the just's Desire—
Messiah—born, death's bloody field to tread,
And, by his passion, bruise the serpent's head:
Adown time's lengthen'd vista beam'd his eye,
And view'd the scene in clear perspective lie—
The Saviour's triumph in the realms of light,
And Satan chain'd in tenfold shades of night.
Firm and unshaken as the flinty rock
Was his pure faith, which stood the potent shock
Of trial, and the wondrous conquest won,
When drew the sire the knife to slay his son;
That son, from whom, by God's supreme command,
A race should spring, as countless as the sand:
What throbbings must his tender heart have borne
When nature's ties by him in twain were torn,
And on the pile, with meek imploring eye,
His darling son a victim weak did lie!
But steadfast Faith firm nerved his feeling soul,
Though down his cheeks the tears of nature stole,
To show submission to that Power divine
Who never acts from motives unbenign.

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An endless prospect opens to the eye,
On the instructive page of history,
Of saints heroic, who, like granite rock,
Have braved stern persecution's direst shock;
Nor could the fellest form of gloomy death
Appal their souls, upborne by cheering Faith.
Torture in vain the crucifix hath rear'd,
In vain with blood the rack hath been besmear'd,
In vain the fagot's fiercest flames have stung,
In vain the headsman's axe hath direful rung,
In vain, death-fraught, hath reel'd the shower of stones,
Or wheel to dust hath bruised the martyr's bones—
With angel-meekness has their latest breath,
In smiles, been pour'd, amid the scenes of death.
Wondrous the blissful power that could bestow
Strength to contemn the life-consuming glow
Of fire terrific, blown to sevenfold rage,
That death to all approachers did presage!
Such power did Faith indelibly impart,
To cheer, 'neath threaten'd martyrdom, the heart
Of those illustrious Jews whom Pagan ire
Doom'd to the ordeal of Chaldean fire;
Such power did Faith through Daniel's soul infuse—
High favour'd prophet of the captive Jews—
As led him ne'er God's law to disobey,
Though he should perish by the beasts of prey:
Firm clave their anchor to that Rock secure
Which can temptation's fellest storm endure.
Thus Faith can cheer each gloomy mundane scene,
Though terrors frown the heavenly bliss between;
Can realise those pleasures ever new,
Though densely dark unto the carnal view;
Can lift her voice, to join the dulcet song
That flows the pure angelic choir among,
Who from their harps such harmony impart
As could entrance with rapture every heart.
Oh, for the grand apocalyptic sight
Of that bless'd realm of infinite delight,
Where haggard want and woe can ne'er appear!
Whose fields still bloom, whose sky is ever clear,

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Whose rivers, springing from life's sacred source,
Round rocks of brightest gems, do wind their course,
Whereof who drinks shall never thirst again,
But through eternity refresh'd remain;
Whose ever-verdant trees' ambrosial fruit,
With nodding welcome, doth the saints salute
To taste the luscious food, so fair to view,
Of which who ever ate ne'er hunger knew.
Faith from the mind all murmur doth expel,
And plants content there evermore to dwell;
She teaches all her vot'ries ne'er to fret,
Although by life's distresses sore beset;
Smooths the erst frowning brow of poverty
Amidst the rigours of the toiling day;
Awakes the finest feelings of the soul,
Immured before in stupor's black control;
Gives resignation when affliction's nigh,
Content to live, and fortitude to die:
Thus life she sweetens! but her strongest power
Sheds on the saint to cheer his dying hour.
Firm resting on the promise of his God,
He longs to reach his ever-bless'd abode,
And trusts that his all-gracious Sire on high
Will soothe the widow's grief and orphan's cry;
Will guide them, through earth's wilderness of woe,
From every outward, every latent foe,
And waft them, when they leave its dreary shore,
Safe to His arms, to taste of grief no more.
Such aid upheld those heaven-approved few
Whom persecution's vengeance did pursue;
Who, for Immanuel's life-dispensing cause,
Were doom'd to perish 'neath tyrannic laws;
Who, for their pure benevolence of mind,
Were too, too good to dwell with base mankind;
These trod the footsteps of their Master dear,
Unmindful of their suff'rings, though severe,
Conscious that, when life's per'lous day was o'er,
To joys beyond conception they would soar.
How dark, terrific, is the sullen lour
That shrouds the sceptic at death's gloomy hour?

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No charm can soothe his agonising mind,
On all sides round no solace can he find;
Shut are wit's once exhilarating springs,
Shorn are his fancy's bounding eagle wings;
Stern conscience throws her venom-pointed dart,
That shoots corrosive anguish through the heart;
Perverted reason brands his tortured soul,
And mem'ry spreads her guilt-bedaubed roll;
Time's trickling sands, he deems, too rapid run;
Too soon to set glides down the evening sun;
Conviction's lamp faint glimmers on his eye,
When down he sinks into eternity!
Such horror frown'd, through infinite despair,
Upon the sceptic bosom of Voltaire,
When life refused her cordial beams to shed
Around the witty infidel's death-bed;
When all his humour, all his atheist lore,
The passing moments could beguile no more;
When, from profoundest hell, began to flow
That fire which wakes the sharpest pangs of woe—
That fire which, kindled, nought can ever quench,
But, flaming, burns with keen sulphureous stench—
Intense, as lightning through the welkin driven,
Eternal, as the sure decrees of heaven:
A backward eye he, haply, throws on youth,
Before estranged far from the path of truth;
What heart-contentment then his bosom found,
Ere he had trod the daring sceptic's ground!
But such a retrospect, when view'd thus late,
In tenfold misery sinks his hapless state;
He dies, to live anew to sharper pain,
Where torture merciless doth ever reign!
Faith's power to cool affliction's scorching fire
Did make the stubborn infidel admire—
Admire, and wish that hour he ne'er had met
Which had his mind with doubtings vain beset—
When he espied the fortitude of mind
Display'd by good La Roche, by Faith refined,
While he endured the shock of trial great,
Yet bow'd with meek submission to his fate:

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The dear companion of his bosom torn
Away by death—a stranger he forlorn—
His only child—his daughter sweet and fair,
Who sole remain'd his sufferings sad to share—
Sunk, 'spite of all the sage physician's art,
Beneath the cureless wound—a broken heart!
Untimely doom'd to tenant death's drear cell,
For rival lovers, who both fought and fell:
Yet soar'd the feeling saint o'er all these woes,
Which Faith's triumphant power resplendent shows.
Bless'd emanation from the throne above!
Rich garnish'd grace of all-surpassing love!
May thy transcendent pleasures wide be shed
By Him who is thy only fountain-head;
Shed o'er a world by passions wild o'errun,
Shed to eclipse sin's scorching tropic sun,
Shed to prepare mankind for joys that lie
In other worlds, veil'd from the carnal eye!
'Tis thou canst penetrate those regions sheen,
Angelic “evidence of things not seen!”
Canst more than mountain obstacles remove,
And fix the mind on endless themes of love,
Which brightly shine, with still-increasing ray,
In the pure realms of immortality.
 

David Hume.—Vide the story of La Roche.