Sacred Meditations and Moral Themes In Verse By the Rev. Robert Montgomery ... Third Edition--Revised and Enlarged |
 |
THE AGED MINISTER'S FUNERAL. |
 | Sacred Meditations and Moral Themes In Verse |  |
206
THE AGED MINISTER'S FUNERAL.
The Christian never dies; in coffin'd dust
What though he slumber, and the speechless grave
With cold embrace his pallid form receives,
Religion, like the shade of Christ, appears
To heaven-eyed Faith beside the tomb to smile,
And from her lips, seraphically fired,
Rolls the rich strain, “O Death! where now thy sting?
O Grave! thy vict'ry, where?”—extinguished both
And baffled; stingless death, and strengthless law
Together round the cross like trophies hang
Self-vanquished; Death himself in Jesus died!
What though he slumber, and the speechless grave
With cold embrace his pallid form receives,
Religion, like the shade of Christ, appears
To heaven-eyed Faith beside the tomb to smile,
And from her lips, seraphically fired,
Rolls the rich strain, “O Death! where now thy sting?
O Grave! thy vict'ry, where?”—extinguished both
And baffled; stingless death, and strengthless law
Together round the cross like trophies hang
Self-vanquished; Death himself in Jesus died!
The Christian never dies; his very death
To him a birthday into glory proves:
For then, emerging fetterless and free
From this dark prison-house of earth and sin,
(All sensual dimness, like a veil withdrawn)
In mystic radiance soars the seraph Mind
To regions high and holy, where the Truth
Essential, Beauty's uncreated form,
And Wisdom pure, in archetypal state
To souls unearthed their trinal blaze reveal.—
Unchain the eagle, break his iron bars,
And when aloft on wings exultant poised,
Sun-ward he sweeps through clouds of rolling sheen
And makes the blue immensity his home,
Go, mark him, while the flash of freedom breaks
Forth from each eye-ball, in its burning glee,
And there, the imaged rapture of a mounting soul
When prisonless, from out the body pure,
May fancy witness;—far away it flies
And where the Sun of Righteousness enthroned,
Eternal noon-tide round His ransomed pours,
Dwells in the smile of glory and of God!
To him a birthday into glory proves:
For then, emerging fetterless and free
From this dark prison-house of earth and sin,
(All sensual dimness, like a veil withdrawn)
In mystic radiance soars the seraph Mind
To regions high and holy, where the Truth
207
And Wisdom pure, in archetypal state
To souls unearthed their trinal blaze reveal.—
Unchain the eagle, break his iron bars,
And when aloft on wings exultant poised,
Sun-ward he sweeps through clouds of rolling sheen
And makes the blue immensity his home,
Go, mark him, while the flash of freedom breaks
Forth from each eye-ball, in its burning glee,
And there, the imaged rapture of a mounting soul
When prisonless, from out the body pure,
May fancy witness;—far away it flies
And where the Sun of Righteousness enthroned,
Eternal noon-tide round His ransomed pours,
Dwells in the smile of glory and of God!
And thus of thee, the venerably good,
The mild old man with apostolic mien,
Let Mem'ry in her heaven-ward moments think:
Thou art not dead, but from thy bondage free;
Alive, as in the sunbeam basks the mote,
Art thou, encircled with the blaze of heaven
In that assembly where the crowned ones chant,
With robes blood-whitened by the wondrous Lamb.—
Ah! what a sunburst of immortal truth
In keen effulgence on thy spirit broke,
When forth, from out the fett'ring walls of flesh
It soared!—the dull eclipse of death no more,
The daylight of eternity begun!
Around thy bed, while nature knelt and prayed,
And the mind trembled into tears and sighs,
Thine was the song ecstatically loud
From harping angels, and from hymning saints
In concord, round the throne of Jesus raised.—
And who, when gospel music charmed thine ears,
Or promises, with preciousness divine
Deep-laden, lighted up thine aged eyes
With more than youth's glad lustre—who that heard
Thy holy breathings for the better land,
And did not, from his eyelids dash the tear
Of mourning, when he thought, that thou wert there
In that pure home of perfect light and peace
At length arrived;—to that bright City brought,
Whose silver turrets oft thy faith beheld,
When down the streets Imagination walked,
By angels, and the church's first-born, lined!
The mild old man with apostolic mien,
Let Mem'ry in her heaven-ward moments think:
Thou art not dead, but from thy bondage free;
Alive, as in the sunbeam basks the mote,
Art thou, encircled with the blaze of heaven
In that assembly where the crowned ones chant,
With robes blood-whitened by the wondrous Lamb.—
Ah! what a sunburst of immortal truth
In keen effulgence on thy spirit broke,
When forth, from out the fett'ring walls of flesh
It soared!—the dull eclipse of death no more,
208
Around thy bed, while nature knelt and prayed,
And the mind trembled into tears and sighs,
Thine was the song ecstatically loud
From harping angels, and from hymning saints
In concord, round the throne of Jesus raised.—
And who, when gospel music charmed thine ears,
Or promises, with preciousness divine
Deep-laden, lighted up thine aged eyes
With more than youth's glad lustre—who that heard
Thy holy breathings for the better land,
And did not, from his eyelids dash the tear
Of mourning, when he thought, that thou wert there
In that pure home of perfect light and peace
At length arrived;—to that bright City brought,
Whose silver turrets oft thy faith beheld,
When down the streets Imagination walked,
By angels, and the church's first-born, lined!
Around the tomb where thy cold ashes sleep,
The unbought homage that a good man wins
'Twas mine to witness, when the gathered crowd
Attended with a train of weeping Hearts
Who knew thee best, and therefore, mourn'd thee most.
And well that scene thy pure and placid life
Betokened; feeling decked thy funeral;
The moral blazonry of christian grief
Was there, and touchingly the whole arrayed
With more than splendour,—with the truth of tears.—
The hoary Minster, eloquently vast,
Lifting its forehead with cathedral grace,
Whose form revered some twice three hundred years
Have girt with grandeur—like a zoning spell
That binds bewitchingly; the tombs antique;
By jagged walls, in sculptured ruin bent;
The graves of myriads like a sea of mounds
In swells of grass on all sides ranked and ranged
In death's confusion,—till their cited dust
Leaps into life beneath the trumpet blast
Of Time's Archangel, striding earth and sea!
The rock-hewn churchyard, with its green uprise
Of monumental landscape, where the grief
Of Nature, and the grace of Sculpture vie
In soft contention, each expressing each,
And hiding death between them, by the spell
That o'er the grimness of the grave is thrown:—
All this, while high in front, severely calm,
The fearless Knox in stony grandeur frowned,—
Together met, a scene of soul combined,
Till one vast sentiment the whole became
Of Sacredness and silence!—Childhood hushed
Its laugh, and Youth the lawless smile forewent,
And the mute crowd a single mourner seemed,
When slowly, to its last long home was borne
Thine earthly portion;—Heaven the better took.
The unbought homage that a good man wins
'Twas mine to witness, when the gathered crowd
Attended with a train of weeping Hearts
Who knew thee best, and therefore, mourn'd thee most.
And well that scene thy pure and placid life
Betokened; feeling decked thy funeral;
The moral blazonry of christian grief
Was there, and touchingly the whole arrayed
209
The hoary Minster, eloquently vast,
Lifting its forehead with cathedral grace,
Whose form revered some twice three hundred years
Have girt with grandeur—like a zoning spell
That binds bewitchingly; the tombs antique;
By jagged walls, in sculptured ruin bent;
The graves of myriads like a sea of mounds
In swells of grass on all sides ranked and ranged
In death's confusion,—till their cited dust
Leaps into life beneath the trumpet blast
Of Time's Archangel, striding earth and sea!
The rock-hewn churchyard, with its green uprise
Of monumental landscape, where the grief
Of Nature, and the grace of Sculpture vie
In soft contention, each expressing each,
And hiding death between them, by the spell
That o'er the grimness of the grave is thrown:—
All this, while high in front, severely calm,
The fearless Knox in stony grandeur frowned,—
Together met, a scene of soul combined,
Till one vast sentiment the whole became
Of Sacredness and silence!—Childhood hushed
Its laugh, and Youth the lawless smile forewent,
And the mute crowd a single mourner seemed,
When slowly, to its last long home was borne
Thine earthly portion;—Heaven the better took.
210
Within thy tomb, one farewell gaze we had,—
The heart out-speaking with a tongue of tears,
While friend on friend a look of meaning turned,
And said no more! the soul must speak above;
It learns no language in this world of graves
And gloom; for silence makes the spirit's voice,
When faith and feeling by the tomb embrace!
Pure on the bosom of Almighty love
From sin and sorrow thou art resting now;
And who would bring thee, might availing tears
Be answered, back to this cold earth again!—
To peace and glory, to perfections high
Around thee smiling, rather may we mount
On the sure wing of faith that carried thee;
And o'er the tract thy shining virtues traced
Let holy Imitation wend her way,—
Her eye on Him intently fixed and firm,
Our bright Precursor to the cross and crown!
The heart out-speaking with a tongue of tears,
While friend on friend a look of meaning turned,
And said no more! the soul must speak above;
It learns no language in this world of graves
And gloom; for silence makes the spirit's voice,
When faith and feeling by the tomb embrace!
Pure on the bosom of Almighty love
From sin and sorrow thou art resting now;
And who would bring thee, might availing tears
Be answered, back to this cold earth again!—
To peace and glory, to perfections high
Around thee smiling, rather may we mount
On the sure wing of faith that carried thee;
And o'er the tract thy shining virtues traced
Let holy Imitation wend her way,—
Her eye on Him intently fixed and firm,
Our bright Precursor to the cross and crown!
And now, farewell!—if age's hoary charm;
If gentleness with solid worth combined;
If faith and truth by patriarchal grace
Bedecked; if boundless love, that godlike smiles
Serenely over sects and names enthroned;
If these were thine;—with all th' enriching spell
Of temper, cloudless as the crystal noon,
And feelings tuned to every tender call,
While round about thee hung the glow
Of youth's gay morning, by the eve of age
Subdued, like Spring and Autumn's blended smile,—
Then o'er thy grave recording Truth may bend,
And drop, not undeserved, the simple wreath
Of Memory, the Muse has ventured now.
If gentleness with solid worth combined;
If faith and truth by patriarchal grace
Bedecked; if boundless love, that godlike smiles
Serenely over sects and names enthroned;
If these were thine;—with all th' enriching spell
Of temper, cloudless as the crystal noon,
And feelings tuned to every tender call,
211
Of youth's gay morning, by the eve of age
Subdued, like Spring and Autumn's blended smile,—
Then o'er thy grave recording Truth may bend,
And drop, not undeserved, the simple wreath
Of Memory, the Muse has ventured now.
Farewell! a few more rolling suns and years
Will yon dark Minster from his turret speak
Of time's departure, with his iron voice
Wailing a hollow dirge o'er Life's dead hours,—
And the hush'd earth at every pore will heave
Around thee; myriads from their pulseless clay
In throbbing consciousness shall rise, and bound
Warm into being!—What a mass of life
Under the trumpet's dead-awakning call
Will stand and tremble in the gaze of God!
And thou wilt rise; nor rock, nor mountain seek
To crush thee, from the piercing eye of Him
Arrayed in lightnings of terrific glare,—
Immanuel!—on the Judgment's burning throne
Of glory, wheeling through the heaven of heavens!
And when Creation in her tomb of fire
Shall welter, and the wicked lift a cry
Of loud, last agony, beneath the frown
Of Truth's Avenger, undismayed thine eyes
Will greet Him;—thou shalt look on God and live!
Will yon dark Minster from his turret speak
Of time's departure, with his iron voice
Wailing a hollow dirge o'er Life's dead hours,—
And the hush'd earth at every pore will heave
Around thee; myriads from their pulseless clay
In throbbing consciousness shall rise, and bound
Warm into being!—What a mass of life
Under the trumpet's dead-awakning call
Will stand and tremble in the gaze of God!
And thou wilt rise; nor rock, nor mountain seek
To crush thee, from the piercing eye of Him
Arrayed in lightnings of terrific glare,—
Immanuel!—on the Judgment's burning throne
Of glory, wheeling through the heaven of heavens!
And when Creation in her tomb of fire
Shall welter, and the wicked lift a cry
Of loud, last agony, beneath the frown
Of Truth's Avenger, undismayed thine eyes
Will greet Him;—thou shalt look on God and live!
| Sacred Meditations and Moral Themes In Verse | |