Poems by the late John Bethune With a sketch of the author's life, by his brother |
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SACRAMENTAL LINES—1835. |
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 | Poems by the late John Bethune |  |
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SACRAMENTAL LINES—1835.
There is glory, they say, in the presence and breath
Of the lofty on earth, who are heirs but of death;
There is glory, they say, in their smile—and their word
And their welcome ennobles the least:
But we, in the light of thy presence, O Lord!
Would assemble to-day round a richer board,
To partake of a holier feast.
Of the lofty on earth, who are heirs but of death;
There is glory, they say, in their smile—and their word
And their welcome ennobles the least:
But we, in the light of thy presence, O Lord!
Would assemble to-day round a richer board,
To partake of a holier feast.
And He who invites us and welcomes us there,
Ere the fabric of nature was made,
Encircled with glory, which none may declare,
The light of eternity shed,
From his aspect benign, on the glorious abode
Of the angels, who knelt in the palace of God.
Ere the fabric of nature was made,
Encircled with glory, which none may declare,
The light of eternity shed,
From his aspect benign, on the glorious abode
Of the angels, who knelt in the palace of God.
We come at the bidding of Him
Who on Calvary bow'd down his head—
The Lord of the terrible cherubim!
Who descended to earth, and in agony bled,
That the meanest of men, and the deepest in guilt,
In glory might shine when the planets are dim;
When the oil of the bright burning stars shall be spilt,
Like droplets of fire from a chalice's brim;
When the angel shall wake, with a waft of his breath,
A harvest of life from the regions of death;
And the shouts of delight, and the wailings of woe,
Shall mingle to mark his ascent
From this perishing fire-shrouded world below,
Through the ruins and wreck of the firmament.
Who on Calvary bow'd down his head—
The Lord of the terrible cherubim!
Who descended to earth, and in agony bled,
That the meanest of men, and the deepest in guilt,
In glory might shine when the planets are dim;
When the oil of the bright burning stars shall be spilt,
Like droplets of fire from a chalice's brim;
When the angel shall wake, with a waft of his breath,
A harvest of life from the regions of death;
And the shouts of delight, and the wailings of woe,
Shall mingle to mark his ascent
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Through the ruins and wreck of the firmament.
We come at the bidding of Him who inspires
The tempest-charged cloud with its wrath;
Who bids the volcano disgorge all its fires,
And the lightning speed on its path;
Who bids the deep mountain-pent earthquake explode,
And shakes the vast empires of earth with his nod!
The tempest-charged cloud with its wrath;
Who bids the volcano disgorge all its fires,
And the lightning speed on its path;
Who bids the deep mountain-pent earthquake explode,
And shakes the vast empires of earth with his nod!
It is He who invites us to come—
For He is the lord of the feast;
It is He in whose presence archangels are dumb—
And He welcomes the poorest, the meanest, the least,
To sit at the table his servants have spread,
To drink of the cup, and to eat of the bread—
Those solemn memorials to men
Of the body he broke, and the blood which he shed,
To restore them from death, and unite them again
To their Saviour, their Lord, and their Head.
For He is the lord of the feast;
It is He in whose presence archangels are dumb—
And He welcomes the poorest, the meanest, the least,
To sit at the table his servants have spread,
To drink of the cup, and to eat of the bread—
Those solemn memorials to men
Of the body he broke, and the blood which he shed,
To restore them from death, and unite them again
To their Saviour, their Lord, and their Head.
We come at thy bidding, O Lord!
To the feast of forgiveness and love.
May each vice thou abhorrest by us be abhorr'd;
May thy spirit descend from above,
And thy graces divine in abundance be pour'd,
Our souls to enlighten, our hearts to improve,
To strengthen our hopes, to encourage our faith,
To humble our pride, to enkindle our zeal,
To solace our grief and our bruises to heal,
And bright comfort to shed in the conflict of death.
To the feast of forgiveness and love.
May each vice thou abhorrest by us be abhorr'd;
May thy spirit descend from above,
And thy graces divine in abundance be pour'd,
Our souls to enlighten, our hearts to improve,
To strengthen our hopes, to encourage our faith,
To humble our pride, to enkindle our zeal,
To solace our grief and our bruises to heal,
And bright comfort to shed in the conflict of death.
| Poems by the late John Bethune | |