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

“Sin, that it might appear sin, working death in me by that which is good; that sin by the commandment might become exceeding sinful.” Rom. vii. 13.

Sin colours all we do and prize,
And, like our shadow, ne'er departs;
E'en when we sleep, its blackness lies
In spirit brooding o'er our hearts.

The cleansing grace of Blood Divine
Alone can wash the stain away,
“So let it bathe this heart of mine!”—
Believers thus for ever pray.

Sin struck the moral root of Man
And poison'd there the branches too;
From Adam down to us it ran,
And venoms all we think and do.

Still, not in earth, but heaven above
Rebellion first its flag unfurl'd,
When God's bright Angel left his love,
A fiend became, and sought our world.

O mystery! too deep for all
Except for Truth's omniscient eye,
That one in heaven from faith might fall,
Whom nothing from without could try.

Yet refuge in this thought we find,
That sin no perfect substance is;
But mere negation, bad and blind,
Which cankers man and mortal bliss.

Dark paradox of will perverse,
Self-worship forms the secret ground
Where Sin begets that boundless curse,
Hearts without God have ever found.

Self-pref'rence frames a hell within,
Eternity in seed is there;
And death and darkness thence begin
The torment souls undone must share.

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How sin commenced, vain reason tries
To speculate, till thought grows wild;
But modest faith this truth can prize,—
That God is pure, though man defiled.

Sole Teacher of all saving truth!
Divine Convincer of our need,
Guardian of age, and Guide of youth,
Under the Cross we learn our creed:

Sin blasted with primeval blight
Our first estate in Eden's bowers,
Cover'd creation o'er with night,
And crush'd her prospects, and her powers.

And since that most stupendous fall,
Matter and mind, with secret groan
Have ceased not for their God to call,
Like orphans left to sigh alone.

All pangs, and penalties, and pains,
Sickness and sorrow, grief and care,
Where ruin frowns, or anguish reigns,—
The sinfulness of sin is there.

The babe who dies; the tomb which opes
For buried joys, or broken hearts;
Each leaf that falls from wither'd hopes
As friend on friend from earth departs,—

What prove they all, but seal and sign,
How sin hath havock'd earth and man,
And, as the foe of law divine,
Merits an everlasting ban?

But seek we this sad truth to know
How sin by virtual root can be
A deicide, who strikes a blow
Which aims at awful Deity?

Then, look we to supernal Grace,
Almighty Love in flesh unveil'd,
Whose worth restored our sunken race
To heights beyond what thought hath scaled.

Did grateful awe His form attend?
Or, round Him adorations fall,
And with encrowning anthem blend
In one loud burst,—“Hail! Lord of all!”

Alas! the world an atheist proved;
His life became embodied woe,
And He whom God supremely loved
Was hated, worse than fiends below.

Sin nail'd Him to the felon's tree,
Marr'd His meek face, and spear'd His side;
Nor was one sigh of sympathy
Breathed o'er Him, when the Man-God died!

Well might Creation feel affright,
And her dread anguish seem to say
The sun could not endure that sight,
But veil'd its brow, and look'd away.

Yet man, the sinner, does not shake,
Recoil nor shudder, groan nor weep;
And while the very dead awake,
His heart retains its iron sleep!

Lord of the soul! while thus we find
Ourselves in all the Past hath done,
Teach the bad conscience of the blind,
Of spirits all Thou art the Sun.

In Thy pure lustre, sin appears
A contrast fell to man and God;
And makes us tremble at the tears
Which gush'd where bleeding Mercy trod.

Religion thus atonement brings
When faith and fear in one combine;
While purity from pardon springs,
And proves them both indeed divine.