Seatonian Poems By the Rev. J. M. Neale |
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THE
SEVEN CHURCHES OF ASIA. |
 | Seatonian Poems |  |
247
THE SEVEN CHURCHES OF ASIA.
1863.
249
Aye, let them wreak the deadliest of their hate
Upon the Lord's Elected! Let them speed,
Far as the Empire spreads her giant arms,
The bolt of persecution; gird their loins
For battle with the Lord and with his Christ;
And test the strength of agony by hope,
Of faith by torture; setting present shame
Against the exceeding and eternal Crown:
And learn how Love counts this her deepest joy,
To match herself with Death; joy doubly dear
When Death comes armed in doubly hideous form.
—I see them pass—O bright palmiferous band
That none can number!—all arrayed as fits
The King's triumphant warriors, who came out
Of mighty tribulation, but are now
Clad in the white robes of eternal peace:
—I see them pass, the Crown upon their head,
To join the everlasting marriage-feast:
Old men, who only grieved that life in them
Was but so poor a thing to fling away:
Soldiers, once vowed to Cæsar's Throne, now bound
By Military Sacrament to One
Greater than Cæsar: maidens that till then
Had known no ruder visiting of touch
Than mother's gentle arm, or sister's kiss;
But, in an ecstasy of joy, shall now
Find, in the rack's long terrible embrace,
Their truer bridal. These are they that stood
Firm in the Colosseum, when the cry
“The Christians to the Lions!” rose to Heaven:
That gave their bodies to the flame, but not
Their souls to idols: mothers that endured
To see their little ones' most tender life
Ebbing away beneath the scourge, and shed
No tear, but rather urged them to the fight.
Well borne the darkness and the tempest!—He,
His People's Leader, in His own dear Voice
To every soul that agonised for Him
Shall speak of Winter over, raindrops passed,
And the sweet Turtle's song of endless peace.
‘Arise, My love, My fair one! come away!’
Upon the Lord's Elected! Let them speed,
Far as the Empire spreads her giant arms,
The bolt of persecution; gird their loins
For battle with the Lord and with his Christ;
And test the strength of agony by hope,
Of faith by torture; setting present shame
Against the exceeding and eternal Crown:
And learn how Love counts this her deepest joy,
To match herself with Death; joy doubly dear
When Death comes armed in doubly hideous form.
—I see them pass—O bright palmiferous band
That none can number!—all arrayed as fits
250
Of mighty tribulation, but are now
Clad in the white robes of eternal peace:
—I see them pass, the Crown upon their head,
To join the everlasting marriage-feast:
Old men, who only grieved that life in them
Was but so poor a thing to fling away:
Soldiers, once vowed to Cæsar's Throne, now bound
By Military Sacrament to One
Greater than Cæsar: maidens that till then
Had known no ruder visiting of touch
Than mother's gentle arm, or sister's kiss;
But, in an ecstasy of joy, shall now
Find, in the rack's long terrible embrace,
Their truer bridal. These are they that stood
Firm in the Colosseum, when the cry
“The Christians to the Lions!” rose to Heaven:
That gave their bodies to the flame, but not
Their souls to idols: mothers that endured
To see their little ones' most tender life
Ebbing away beneath the scourge, and shed
No tear, but rather urged them to the fight.
251
His People's Leader, in His own dear Voice
To every soul that agonised for Him
Shall speak of Winter over, raindrops passed,
And the sweet Turtle's song of endless peace.
‘Arise, My love, My fair one! come away!’
An Easter morn on Patmos! All around
The bluely-trembling sea smiles countlessly;
While splintery peak and crag go towering up,
Height above height, where soft and tender clouds
Nestle, as Beauty clings to Valour's breast.
—But what to him, most loving and most loved
Of all the King's Apostles, is the light
That flickers on the heaving wave—the sail
That like a snowy sea-bird flashes out,
Then tacks again to darkness? There he stands
Upon the wild sea-shore, and sends his thoughts
Back to the Day of days, when first they came
Breathless with haste and ecstasied with joy:
‘The Lord is risen indeed!’ And so it dawned,
The glorious spring-day of a ransomed earth.
He sees the Garden by the Sacred Rock,
He breathes its very incense; even now
Its Palms make music to him; he beholds
The Napkin that had touched the Glorious Head
Folded apart: the Grave clothes, (useless now,
Since Death by death is swallowed up of Life,)
Laid by themselves:—he listens to the bray
Of trumpet and of cymbal, that floats on
From Sion's hill, where Priest and people keep
The Paschal Feast, not knowing that the Lamb,
The great Oblation of the earth, is slain,
Slain by their hands but three short days agone:
And still he stands and muses.
The bluely-trembling sea smiles countlessly;
While splintery peak and crag go towering up,
Height above height, where soft and tender clouds
Nestle, as Beauty clings to Valour's breast.
—But what to him, most loving and most loved
Of all the King's Apostles, is the light
That flickers on the heaving wave—the sail
That like a snowy sea-bird flashes out,
Then tacks again to darkness? There he stands
Upon the wild sea-shore, and sends his thoughts
Back to the Day of days, when first they came
Breathless with haste and ecstasied with joy:
‘The Lord is risen indeed!’ And so it dawned,
The glorious spring-day of a ransomed earth.
252
He breathes its very incense; even now
Its Palms make music to him; he beholds
The Napkin that had touched the Glorious Head
Folded apart: the Grave clothes, (useless now,
Since Death by death is swallowed up of Life,)
Laid by themselves:—he listens to the bray
Of trumpet and of cymbal, that floats on
From Sion's hill, where Priest and people keep
The Paschal Feast, not knowing that the Lamb,
The great Oblation of the earth, is slain,
Slain by their hands but three short days agone:
And still he stands and muses.
Oh how near
We tread the confines of the spirit-world!
How thin the veil that hides it! Who but feels
Sometime, in night's dim silence and dead noon,
Conscious that those we deem so far are near,
The lost are present? Who that has not heard
Of strange mysterious warnings, or perchance
The work of Guardian Angel, or belike
Of friend who, having loved us, loves us still,
And who, now free, would guard us, captives yet?
—Who has not felt, in hour of need or woe,
Illapses more than earthly?—This be sure:
That when we solve—God grant we solve it well!—
That last and greatest riddle, when our eyes
Begin to open on the spirit-land,
Then we shall learn how mixed and intertwined
Thro' all our course, has been that land with this.
—Who that has then stood ministering, and watched
The strange on-coming of that fearful Thing
Whose viewless presence fills the room, and makes
Him that had never seen its advent yet,
Say, as by some new instinct,—This is Death!—
Who that has, awe-struck, marked the dying eye
Follow through vacancy some form no sight
Of living man could reach, but feels—‘He now
Is on the very point of making out
The terrible enigma,—he is now
Half in the world where flesh and blood come not.’
We tread the confines of the spirit-world!
How thin the veil that hides it! Who but feels
Sometime, in night's dim silence and dead noon,
Conscious that those we deem so far are near,
The lost are present? Who that has not heard
Of strange mysterious warnings, or perchance
The work of Guardian Angel, or belike
253
And who, now free, would guard us, captives yet?
—Who has not felt, in hour of need or woe,
Illapses more than earthly?—This be sure:
That when we solve—God grant we solve it well!—
That last and greatest riddle, when our eyes
Begin to open on the spirit-land,
Then we shall learn how mixed and intertwined
Thro' all our course, has been that land with this.
—Who that has then stood ministering, and watched
The strange on-coming of that fearful Thing
Whose viewless presence fills the room, and makes
Him that had never seen its advent yet,
Say, as by some new instinct,—This is Death!—
Who that has, awe-struck, marked the dying eye
Follow through vacancy some form no sight
Of living man could reach, but feels—‘He now
Is on the very point of making out
The terrible enigma,—he is now
Half in the world where flesh and blood come not.’
—Earth and earth's scenes have vanished! Boundless sea
And royal coronet of clouds, that hang
Above the eternal mountain,—where are they?
And Who is here?
254
Above the eternal mountain,—where are they?
And Who is here?
He here, the First and Last;
The Alpha and Omega; the Amen;
The Faithful and True Witness. Not as erst
He stood in that tremendous hour of shame,
(O loving hour for man!) or when He trod
The Via Dolorosa, summing up
The bitterness of all that suffering Life
In the most conquering Passion of His Death.
—Intense in brightness stands He: in His hand
The Sevenfold coronet of stars; the Lamp,
The Sevenfold golden Lamp is by His side:
He comes to walk amidst His sevenfold Church,
And speak her Angels' sentence: so to speak
That Mercy yet give season to amend;
To strengthen what is wanting; to confirm
That which as yet is stable. Not as then,
When in the darkness and the cloud, amidst
Adoring bands of Angels, He shall sit,
The final Arbiter of human things;
And the Archangel's trumpet voice proclaim
That time shall be no longer. Then no place
For late repentance: no oblation then
Of prayers, or tears, or almsdeeds shall avail:
When all the kindreds of the earth shall mourn,
And the Elect lift up with joy their heads.
—But not as yet that Advent: now He comes
With mercy tempering justice: comes to cheer
His champions to the fight; with loving words
To warn the self-deceivers; to inspire
Fresh courage in the faint, and bid the strong
Press bravelier onward to the heavenly crown.
The Alpha and Omega; the Amen;
The Faithful and True Witness. Not as erst
He stood in that tremendous hour of shame,
(O loving hour for man!) or when He trod
The Via Dolorosa, summing up
The bitterness of all that suffering Life
In the most conquering Passion of His Death.
—Intense in brightness stands He: in His hand
The Sevenfold coronet of stars; the Lamp,
The Sevenfold golden Lamp is by His side:
He comes to walk amidst His sevenfold Church,
And speak her Angels' sentence: so to speak
That Mercy yet give season to amend;
To strengthen what is wanting; to confirm
That which as yet is stable. Not as then,
When in the darkness and the cloud, amidst
Adoring bands of Angels, He shall sit,
The final Arbiter of human things;
255
That time shall be no longer. Then no place
For late repentance: no oblation then
Of prayers, or tears, or almsdeeds shall avail:
When all the kindreds of the earth shall mourn,
And the Elect lift up with joy their heads.
—But not as yet that Advent: now He comes
With mercy tempering justice: comes to cheer
His champions to the fight; with loving words
To warn the self-deceivers; to inspire
Fresh courage in the faint, and bid the strong
Press bravelier onward to the heavenly crown.
Stand forth, and hear the sentence of Thy Lord,
City of Temples, Asia's Primate Church!
‘I know thy works, thy patience, and thy faith:
Thy hatred to the evil: thou hast borne,
And for My Name's sake laboured, fainting not.
But this I have against thee; thou hast left
Thy earliest love, the kindness of thy youth,
The love of thine espousal-tide. Repent:
Or know, thy candlestick shall be removed,
And darkness settle round and gird thee in.’
City of Temples, Asia's Primate Church!
‘I know thy works, thy patience, and thy faith:
Thy hatred to the evil: thou hast borne,
And for My Name's sake laboured, fainting not.
But this I have against thee; thou hast left
Thy earliest love, the kindness of thy youth,
The love of thine espousal-tide. Repent:
256
And darkness settle round and gird thee in.’
Ah me! I look adown the line of years,
But that first love returns not! Still she stands
Firm to the truth, and faithful to her Lord:
Proclaims, as with a voice of thunder, how
He, of a truth, Incarnate for our sake,
Is consubstantial with Humanity:
But grievous wolves and ravening enter in:
And Grace decays, and Love grows weak, until
The accursed Crescent towers above the Cross;
And all her Martyrs' blood, and all the toil
And faith of her Confessors, end in this;—
The Angel of the Church long leagues away,
Priests fled, and Altars overthrown, and scarce
Two mouldering huts that name the Name of Christ!
But that first love returns not! Still she stands
Firm to the truth, and faithful to her Lord:
Proclaims, as with a voice of thunder, how
He, of a truth, Incarnate for our sake,
Is consubstantial with Humanity:
But grievous wolves and ravening enter in:
And Grace decays, and Love grows weak, until
The accursed Crescent towers above the Cross;
And all her Martyrs' blood, and all the toil
And faith of her Confessors, end in this;—
The Angel of the Church long leagues away,
Priests fled, and Altars overthrown, and scarce
Two mouldering huts that name the Name of Christ!
257
O what a sevenfold flood of glory pours
In each succeeding promise, brightening still
And kindling in intenseness to the close,
“To him that overcometh!” He shall eat,
Eat of the Tree of Life; not that which erst
Bloomed in the earthly Paradise, whereof
Man ate not through God's love; lest, if he ate,
He in this mortal world should live for aye:
But that abiding, that enduring Life,
Life of the Blessed, Life of God Himself;
Life whence the Fountain of all good things springs,
The Beatific Vision!—Into that,
The lost and lovely Eden, Death came in:
But now no fear of death deflowers their joy,
No pining malady, no bloodless age;
Yea, “he that overcometh shall not be
Hurt of the second Death.” He treads not now
The waste and howling wilderness of earth;
As erst they trod, around whose tent, each morn,
Angelic food descended with the dew:
Yet hath he heavenly Manna, while he sits
At that high Banquet, where the Victors rest;
And tell how, 'neath their Chief's protecting Arm,
They went from strength to strength. For war is o'er:
The iron sceptre in the Lord's Right Hand
Hath dashed the Foe in pieces; with the Chief
The followers conquer; their long trial past,
Their carnal battles over.—Is there yet
A higher bliss for them that overcome?
“Him will I make a pillar in God's shrine:
He shall no more go out.” O Joy of joys!
O blest necessity of sinlessness!
And ask ye more than this? Then hear the close.
“To him that overcometh will I give
To sit with Me upon My Throne, as I,
The Agony endured, the Crown put on,
Sat down upon the Eternal Father's Throne.”
—O glorious Rainbow, decked with sevenfold hues!
O perfect Octave of Eternal Bliss!
In each succeeding promise, brightening still
And kindling in intenseness to the close,
“To him that overcometh!” He shall eat,
Eat of the Tree of Life; not that which erst
Bloomed in the earthly Paradise, whereof
Man ate not through God's love; lest, if he ate,
He in this mortal world should live for aye:
But that abiding, that enduring Life,
Life of the Blessed, Life of God Himself;
Life whence the Fountain of all good things springs,
The Beatific Vision!—Into that,
The lost and lovely Eden, Death came in:
But now no fear of death deflowers their joy,
No pining malady, no bloodless age;
Yea, “he that overcometh shall not be
Hurt of the second Death.” He treads not now
The waste and howling wilderness of earth;
As erst they trod, around whose tent, each morn,
Angelic food descended with the dew:
258
At that high Banquet, where the Victors rest;
And tell how, 'neath their Chief's protecting Arm,
They went from strength to strength. For war is o'er:
The iron sceptre in the Lord's Right Hand
Hath dashed the Foe in pieces; with the Chief
The followers conquer; their long trial past,
Their carnal battles over.—Is there yet
A higher bliss for them that overcome?
“Him will I make a pillar in God's shrine:
He shall no more go out.” O Joy of joys!
O blest necessity of sinlessness!
And ask ye more than this? Then hear the close.
“To him that overcometh will I give
To sit with Me upon My Throne, as I,
The Agony endured, the Crown put on,
Sat down upon the Eternal Father's Throne.”
—O glorious Rainbow, decked with sevenfold hues!
O perfect Octave of Eternal Bliss!
259
What sweetest strain of music floats adown
The eternal mountain? Passing sweet, as though
'Twere some faint echo of the notes they hymn,
The “harpers harping, with their harps,” who bow
Before the golden Throne: yet passing sad,
As though a heart-wreck centred in each note?
—I know thy poverty (but thou art rich)
Thou Church whose name is Myrrh! —The incense needs
Must feel the fire, or ere its sweetness lifts
Her trailing cloud of beauty through the air:
The violet trodden under foot gives out
A more than double fragrance: and the string
Racked to the full sends forth its sweetest sound.
—Well to that glorious Angel rings that note,
Keynote of persecution! “In the world
Ye shall have tribulation.” O how fierce
The assault of Satan on that spotless Church!
‘Be faithful to the death, and I will give
The Crown of Life!’—And lo! I view the scene,
Where he, who bare in very deed much fruit,
Stands forth, the athlete in the glorious strife;
Stands forth, the whilst they raise the pile; and marks,
Serene, the wood reared up, the fire prepared,
And knows himself the Victim. And he speaks:
“Fourscore and six years have I served this Lord,
And found a loving Master;—shall I now
Deny His Service?”—And himself the while,
Amidst the flame, as gold refined, is tried:
And tried, is proved: and proved, receives the Crown.
The eternal mountain? Passing sweet, as though
'Twere some faint echo of the notes they hymn,
The “harpers harping, with their harps,” who bow
Before the golden Throne: yet passing sad,
As though a heart-wreck centred in each note?
—I know thy poverty (but thou art rich)
Thou Church whose name is Myrrh! —The incense needs
Must feel the fire, or ere its sweetness lifts
Her trailing cloud of beauty through the air:
The violet trodden under foot gives out
A more than double fragrance: and the string
Racked to the full sends forth its sweetest sound.
—Well to that glorious Angel rings that note,
Keynote of persecution! “In the world
Ye shall have tribulation.” O how fierce
The assault of Satan on that spotless Church!
‘Be faithful to the death, and I will give
The Crown of Life!’—And lo! I view the scene,
260
Stands forth, the athlete in the glorious strife;
Stands forth, the whilst they raise the pile; and marks,
Serene, the wood reared up, the fire prepared,
And knows himself the Victim. And he speaks:
“Fourscore and six years have I served this Lord,
And found a loving Master;—shall I now
Deny His Service?”—And himself the while,
Amidst the flame, as gold refined, is tried:
And tried, is proved: and proved, receives the Crown.
O twin and loving Sisters! faultless both,
Judged by those searching eyes! And Smyrna still,
And Philadelphia, clinging to the faith,
Inherit that same promise: they are kept
Because they kept the word of patience, firm
Amidst encircling weakness: pillars they
Amongst surrounding ruin.—O pledged word
Of God's Eternal Truth! Nor deem thou these
Sole witnesses of faith from age to age;
But rather think how each succeeding day,
Since the first hour He tabernacled here,
Hath blazoned forth His Truth, hath taught the weak
To lean on Him the Mighty; dropped in Balm
Assuaging myriad wounds: but only thus:
As those elected Five amid the Seven,
By struggle or with self or with the Foe.
Judged by those searching eyes! And Smyrna still,
And Philadelphia, clinging to the faith,
Inherit that same promise: they are kept
Because they kept the word of patience, firm
Amidst encircling weakness: pillars they
Amongst surrounding ruin.—O pledged word
Of God's Eternal Truth! Nor deem thou these
Sole witnesses of faith from age to age;
But rather think how each succeeding day,
Since the first hour He tabernacled here,
261
To lean on Him the Mighty; dropped in Balm
Assuaging myriad wounds: but only thus:
As those elected Five amid the Seven,
By struggle or with self or with the Foe.
And thou, too, dweller hard by Satan's throne,
Thou hast thine offering ready:—not as those,
When in the marble court the Priests stood ranged,
With trumpet and with clarion: and the flame
Leapt high and flickering,—and the assembled tribes
Fell down and worshipped: other gift is thine:
One dear oblation, but that one worth all
The Synagogue could offer: one that stood
Single, against a multitude of foes,
Valiant, amidst fierce taunts of coward ranks,
Constant, amidst a host of unbelief.
O Faithful and True Witness! he was then
Witness for Thee, and champion of Thy rights:
Therefore his lot is with the sons of God,
His Portion with the Saints.—Nor he thy one
And only boast, O Pergamum! That day,
When kingly Rhone shall see his banks girt in
With struggling crowds, and all along the shore
The Lictors, and the Eagle, and the Priests,
And legionary soldiers follow on
In long procession, and the curule chair
Receives the fierce Proconsul; there they stand,
Those Martyrs of Lugdunum, spurning back
The offered incense: slave they stand, and Priest,
Bishop and soldier, ready for the war,
And strong in Christ's own strength: while devilish art
Searches each sense and avenue of life;
And scourge and rack and pincer join with flame
To torture nerve and sinew;—them amidst
A Pergamene shall hold no hindmost place.
‘Call us not,’ say they, ‘Martyrs: there is One,
And One alone True Martyr: we are His
—Not Martyrs, but poor servants,—rendering back
The life He gave us first and then redeemed.’
Thou hast thine offering ready:—not as those,
When in the marble court the Priests stood ranged,
With trumpet and with clarion: and the flame
Leapt high and flickering,—and the assembled tribes
Fell down and worshipped: other gift is thine:
One dear oblation, but that one worth all
The Synagogue could offer: one that stood
Single, against a multitude of foes,
Valiant, amidst fierce taunts of coward ranks,
Constant, amidst a host of unbelief.
O Faithful and True Witness! he was then
Witness for Thee, and champion of Thy rights:
262
His Portion with the Saints.—Nor he thy one
And only boast, O Pergamum! That day,
When kingly Rhone shall see his banks girt in
With struggling crowds, and all along the shore
The Lictors, and the Eagle, and the Priests,
And legionary soldiers follow on
In long procession, and the curule chair
Receives the fierce Proconsul; there they stand,
Those Martyrs of Lugdunum, spurning back
The offered incense: slave they stand, and Priest,
Bishop and soldier, ready for the war,
And strong in Christ's own strength: while devilish art
Searches each sense and avenue of life;
And scourge and rack and pincer join with flame
To torture nerve and sinew;—them amidst
A Pergamene shall hold no hindmost place.
‘Call us not,’ say they, ‘Martyrs: there is One,
And One alone True Martyr: we are His
—Not Martyrs, but poor servants,—rendering back
The life He gave us first and then redeemed.’
263
Wake, Thyatira, rouse thee! Take in hand
The Spirit's sword and smite the accursed sect;
Them who deny that in this very flesh
The Lord was born and died: and thence deny
That flesh thus made God's temple, needs must now
Be, as His Spirit, holy. This their boast;
To know “the depths of Satan:” to give up
The body to each vile dishonouring lust;
The while the soul, in some serener height,
Sits unpolluted, mistress of her peace,
And combats pleasure's self with pleasure's arms.
‘This is the glorious triumph,’—such their lore,—
‘Not by hard toil to keep that body down
‘Like some chained prisoner; not to wage the war
‘Immortal against mortal: but to plunge
‘Headlong in fleshly riot, and, by that,
‘Mock Satan's power in Satan's own domain.’
Up, Thyatira! though thy works are more,
—The latter than the former,—persevere;
That which thou hast already, hold thou fast,
Until he come, Whose Coming is thy goal!
The Spirit's sword and smite the accursed sect;
Them who deny that in this very flesh
The Lord was born and died: and thence deny
That flesh thus made God's temple, needs must now
Be, as His Spirit, holy. This their boast;
To know “the depths of Satan:” to give up
The body to each vile dishonouring lust;
The while the soul, in some serener height,
Sits unpolluted, mistress of her peace,
And combats pleasure's self with pleasure's arms.
‘This is the glorious triumph,’—such their lore,—
‘Not by hard toil to keep that body down
‘Like some chained prisoner; not to wage the war
‘Immortal against mortal: but to plunge
‘Headlong in fleshly riot, and, by that,
‘Mock Satan's power in Satan's own domain.’
Up, Thyatira! though thy works are more,
—The latter than the former,—persevere;
264
Until he come, Whose Coming is thy goal!
Let Sardis stand for judgment; by her side
The city of the murderess queen, whose heights
Look down upon the Lycus. They alone
No foemen have within, no fear without,
No fire of persecution, no assault
Of ravening heresy. A still deep calm:
Nor dread of ill occurrent. Thus He speaks,
That holds the Seven Spirits, and seven stars:
Angel of Sardis, hear!—‘I know thy works:
Thou hast the name of living, and art dead.’
—The fair wind blows; the vessel is in port:
O'er incense-breathing Tmolus, through the vale
Whence, white with swans, Caÿster seeks the sea,
The Apostolic missive passes on:—
Forthwith through Sardis spreads the high report,
The Lord That died and rose and lives for aye,
Hath spoken to His faithful here.—At once
They crowd His House; expectant that His praise
Will crown that fame the Churches deem their due.
—O woeful, fearful wakening now! “Thou hast
A name that thou art living, but art dead:
Thy works have I found wanting.”
The city of the murderess queen, whose heights
Look down upon the Lycus. They alone
No foemen have within, no fear without,
No fire of persecution, no assault
Of ravening heresy. A still deep calm:
Nor dread of ill occurrent. Thus He speaks,
That holds the Seven Spirits, and seven stars:
Angel of Sardis, hear!—‘I know thy works:
Thou hast the name of living, and art dead.’
—The fair wind blows; the vessel is in port:
O'er incense-breathing Tmolus, through the vale
Whence, white with swans, Caÿster seeks the sea,
The Apostolic missive passes on:—
Forthwith through Sardis spreads the high report,
The Lord That died and rose and lives for aye,
Hath spoken to His faithful here.—At once
265
Will crown that fame the Churches deem their due.
—O woeful, fearful wakening now! “Thou hast
A name that thou art living, but art dead:
Thy works have I found wanting.”
And they think
Of that tremendous night, when, midst the glare
Of myriad lamps, the melody of lute,
Of psaltery and of sackbut, while from gold
They quaffed the golden juice of priceless vines,
While glorious roofs were echoing back the laugh,
And storied walls the music; while each charm
That Beauty, reft of Beauty's one true pearl,
Could weave round that infatuate monarch,—still
Madlier the revel, foullier went the jest;
Then in that selfsame hour the ghastly hand,
The spirit-hand, that joined no earthly shape,
Gleamed out so cold upon the wall, above
The glare of lamps and torch: and traced so plain,
In characters that iced their blood who saw,
(Deep horror grew more deep, dead heart more dead)
The fatal tekel.—This, O King, thy fate:
Weighed in the balances, and wanting!
Of that tremendous night, when, midst the glare
Of myriad lamps, the melody of lute,
Of psaltery and of sackbut, while from gold
They quaffed the golden juice of priceless vines,
While glorious roofs were echoing back the laugh,
And storied walls the music; while each charm
That Beauty, reft of Beauty's one true pearl,
Could weave round that infatuate monarch,—still
Madlier the revel, foullier went the jest;
Then in that selfsame hour the ghastly hand,
The spirit-hand, that joined no earthly shape,
Gleamed out so cold upon the wall, above
The glare of lamps and torch: and traced so plain,
In characters that iced their blood who saw,
(Deep horror grew more deep, dead heart more dead)
The fatal tekel.—This, O King, thy fate:
266
Thus
Came fearful awe on Sardis. ‘Yet look up,
O remnant that are left! Thou hast a few
That have not stained their garments; they shall walk
With Me in white.—And wilt thou hear His Voice?
—Let the long lines of future years respond.
—When stood'st thou forward in the battle? When
Sent'st thou thy sons to agonise for Him
Thy Lord and Leader?—Oh, the utter wreck
Of those two mouldering shafts that bear thy name!
Came fearful awe on Sardis. ‘Yet look up,
O remnant that are left! Thou hast a few
That have not stained their garments; they shall walk
With Me in white.—And wilt thou hear His Voice?
—Let the long lines of future years respond.
—When stood'st thou forward in the battle? When
Sent'st thou thy sons to agonise for Him
Thy Lord and Leader?—Oh, the utter wreck
Of those two mouldering shafts that bear thy name!
And thou, companion in her guilt and shame,
And Sister in her sentence,—‘I,’ thou sayest,
‘Am rich and multiplied with goods, and stand
‘In need of nought!’ Ah me! in need of all,
Since needing Him That should be all in all.
Wretched, and miserable, and poor, and blind,
And settling on thy lees: nor cold nor hot.
I counsel thee to buy the gold that comes
Bright from affliction's furnace: raiment white
In that most dearest stream of Calvary's Mount.
And Sister in her sentence,—‘I,’ thou sayest,
‘Am rich and multiplied with goods, and stand
‘In need of nought!’ Ah me! in need of all,
Since needing Him That should be all in all.
Wretched, and miserable, and poor, and blind,
And settling on thy lees: nor cold nor hot.
I counsel thee to buy the gold that comes
Bright from affliction's furnace: raiment white
In that most dearest stream of Calvary's Mount.
267
Apocalyptic Vision! of whose shrine
This is the Sevenfold Portal! stretching out
From strength to strength, from hope to hope, until
Thou reachest to the pinnacle of bliss:
Thy manifold afflictions end in joy;
Thy manifold attacks in endless peace.
—And is that peace, and is that joy, for me?—
This is the Sevenfold Portal! stretching out
From strength to strength, from hope to hope, until
Thou reachest to the pinnacle of bliss:
Thy manifold afflictions end in joy;
Thy manifold attacks in endless peace.
—And is that peace, and is that joy, for me?—
Reference is made to the Council of Ephesus: the Third Œcumenical, in which the Nestorian heresy was finally condemned.
In the following lines, the seven blessings “To him that overcometh” are taken in the connection which the best Commentators, and more especially, of late, the Dean of Westminster, have seen in them.
It is to be noticed that only Sardis and Laodicea, of all the Seven Churches, have no internal heresy nor outward attack against which they are warned.
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