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

“The righteous perisheth, and no man layeth it to heart ------ none considering that the righteous is taken away from the evil to come.”—Isa. lvii. 1.

The noblest wealth our world contains
Is holiness of heart;
All other gold it gets, or gains,
But proves the meanest part.

Most regal is that glorious will
Enslaved to God alone,
Which finds it freedom to fulfil
Each mandate of His throne:

Blest Angels by a law like this
Partake their perfect heaven,
And could not feel consummate bliss
If other law were given.

Obedience is adoring joy,
Rebellion brings despair,
And would the heaven of heavens destroy
If Self-will triumph'd there!

Yet holiness may not avoid
The doom corruption brought;
Since Adam fell, by sin destroy'd,
Hath death his carnage wrought.

The sting, but not the stroke, of death
The Lord from man removed;
And they who draw the briefest breath
Are oft the most beloved,—

Beloved by God, and angels too,
And thus from grief and pain
Rapt far above our sense-bound view,
With Christ in heaven to reign.

But oh! how cold the world becomes
As saint on saint departs,
To brighten in elysian homes
With pure and perfect hearts.

As if from out yon starry choir
Which chant around the sun,
Some choral planet quench'd his fire
Which we were gazing on,

Impov'rish'd seems our orphan'd earth
When good men pass away;
Time cannot spare their solemn worth,
But needs it, day by day.

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But still, for them we dare not grieve
The christian path who trod,
If early call'd this life to leave
For glory, and for God.

To them the gain, to us the loss
High providence assigns;
And so appoints a deeper cross
Than mortal thought divines.

Genius, and worth, and wisdom, all
From God alone arise;
And when He wills the same recall,
They seek their natal skies.

Then hush thee, murm'ring Heart! and let
Profound bereavements teach
Lessons more pure than pale regret
By discontent can reach.

The righteous die, but still they live
A life of soul in bliss;
And what Eternity can give,
Outweighs a world like this!

Men would not marvel, could they see
The lustres round The Throne,
Why saints and martyrs yearn'd to be
Where all the Just have flown.

Sorrow, and sin, and change no more
In heaven their love alloy;
The fever of harsh time is o'er,
And Christ their perfect joy.

We talk and think, as if our world
Were all Jehovah made,
And when from some false mountain hurl'd,
Tremble, as tho' betray'd:

Yet, earth is but a point in space,
Our being, scarce a breath;
And he who will not life disgrace
Must die before his death.

The booming knell, the opening grave,
The vacant room and chair
Should summon us to hopes which save
The mind from meaner care.

Hereafter is the home of soul,
The paradise of thought,
And with its unsubdued control,
Lord! be our bosom fraught.

As friend on friend, revered and wise,
Leave wither'd hearts alone,
Lift our low dreams beyond the skies
Around Thine argent throne!

Weaker and weaker grows the spell
Which binds the soul below,
When more than burning numbers tell
By grace begins to glow

Deep in those hearts, which death has fill'd
With placid grief profound;
Where every pang is lull'd and still'd
By Him who gave the wound.

Thus with the dead the living hold
Communion grave and high;
Their bodies are but pulseless mould,
But spirits claim the sky.

Thy church, O Christ! is unconfined
By what men hear, or see,
Since all who own a saintly mind
Are in eternity

By hope and faith,—from whence they draw
Breathings of praise and prayer;
While He, Whom martyr'd Stephen saw,
Becomes their Magnet, there.