Sacred Meditations and Moral Themes In Verse By the Rev. Robert Montgomery ... Third Edition--Revised and Enlarged |
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JOHN THE BAPTIST. |
 | Sacred Meditations and Moral Themes In Verse |  |
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JOHN THE BAPTIST.
Slaughter, or Silence!—take thy choice, oh, Truth,
Glory of earth, and champion for thy God!
And yet, afflictions, famine, curses, chains,
With all that coward Vice or cruel Wrong
Around thee in thy peerless work can throw,—
Thy lot have been, since first a Lie began
O'er fallen mind infernally to reign.
No, not a secret from the stars brought down
By Genius; or, a fact by Science based
On the broad platform of inductive law;
Or, Attribute of sea, or soil, or air,
Light, sound, or colour,—hath by man been placed
Under the ray of philosophic eyes,
But, either Bigotry her pagan yell
Hath lifted; or the gibe of heartless men
Hath mocked; or else, the tyrant with his frown
Vindictive, aided by some damning force;
By prison's gloom, or persecution's fire,—
Came with his blast along Discov'ry's track,
And tried to daunt the speculator down
To silence; and his wingéd mind arrest
In the full strength of its majestic soar.
Glory of earth, and champion for thy God!
And yet, afflictions, famine, curses, chains,
With all that coward Vice or cruel Wrong
Around thee in thy peerless work can throw,—
Thy lot have been, since first a Lie began
O'er fallen mind infernally to reign.
No, not a secret from the stars brought down
By Genius; or, a fact by Science based
On the broad platform of inductive law;
Or, Attribute of sea, or soil, or air,
Light, sound, or colour,—hath by man been placed
Under the ray of philosophic eyes,
But, either Bigotry her pagan yell
Hath lifted; or the gibe of heartless men
Hath mocked; or else, the tyrant with his frown
Vindictive, aided by some damning force;
By prison's gloom, or persecution's fire,—
Came with his blast along Discov'ry's track,
And tried to daunt the speculator down
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In the full strength of its majestic soar.
But if in science, where a Truth acts least
Offensive, binding with no moral sway
Passion, or pride, or mean indulgence,
Martyrs are found, who bled, or burnt, or droop'd
In cells, or chains;—beyond them all are those,
The laurelled Heroes of our language now,
The almost-worshipped by revering Thought
In the hushed temple of the hallowed mind!
These are the prophets of our regal souls,
Who unto nearness God and man have drawn
By principle sublime; or else, by words
Of purity, have so the conscience thrilled,
That Guilt grew mad with miserable rage
To hear them;—but, their guerdon what hath been
Save block and gibbet, dungeon, sword, or stake!
As though the Truth were man's derisive fiend,
And Falsehood found an angel in disguise.
Offensive, binding with no moral sway
Passion, or pride, or mean indulgence,
Martyrs are found, who bled, or burnt, or droop'd
In cells, or chains;—beyond them all are those,
The laurelled Heroes of our language now,
The almost-worshipped by revering Thought
In the hushed temple of the hallowed mind!
These are the prophets of our regal souls,
Who unto nearness God and man have drawn
By principle sublime; or else, by words
Of purity, have so the conscience thrilled,
That Guilt grew mad with miserable rage
To hear them;—but, their guerdon what hath been
Save block and gibbet, dungeon, sword, or stake!
As though the Truth were man's derisive fiend,
And Falsehood found an angel in disguise.
Thus He, that Eremite, whose piercing voice
Pealed like a tocsin to the godless earth,
“Repent ye! for the promised kingdom comes,”—
Herald of grace, and harbinger of Heaven,
Right gloriously among the army ranked
Of Truth's high martyrs,—how severely great
Looks his free soul, to all who can revere
Those specimens of Man, God's volume puts
As models, for divine ambition fit.
Pealed like a tocsin to the godless earth,
“Repent ye! for the promised kingdom comes,”—
Herald of grace, and harbinger of Heaven,
Right gloriously among the army ranked
Of Truth's high martyrs,—how severely great
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Those specimens of Man, God's volume puts
As models, for divine ambition fit.
Girt with his hairy garment, from the plains
Of Judah, where alone the honey wild
Made his chief banquet,—boldly to his work
Behold, the lion-hearted prophet hies,
And, by the terror of his truths alarmed,
Shakes the smooth Pharisee; and from the roll
Of his rebuking thunder, lo! the brood
Of hypocrites, and Sadducéan minds,
Shrink in dismay, like serpents from the sun!
Of Judah, where alone the honey wild
Made his chief banquet,—boldly to his work
Behold, the lion-hearted prophet hies,
And, by the terror of his truths alarmed,
Shakes the smooth Pharisee; and from the roll
Of his rebuking thunder, lo! the brood
Of hypocrites, and Sadducéan minds,
Shrink in dismay, like serpents from the sun!
Nor could the pride of Rank, nor awe of Power,
Nor queenly malice, nor tyrannic scowls,
Daunt, for an instant, that all-daring mind
From voicing forth a message from the Skies
To sin, and sinner!—Firm, and free, and brave,
With cheek unblanched, with forehead unabashed,
Lifted the Baptist his indignant words,
Whether a monarch at their smiting force
Must tremble; or, a publican confess
Their power majestic,—Truth and He were one,
Their challenge fearless, as their cause divine.
For what are station, sceptres, crowns, and courts,
The tyrant's purple, or the victor's plume,
With whatsoe'er this pomp-admiring World
Produces,—with the blazonry compared
Of Truth, all stern, and simple, and sublimely free?
Nor queenly malice, nor tyrannic scowls,
Daunt, for an instant, that all-daring mind
From voicing forth a message from the Skies
To sin, and sinner!—Firm, and free, and brave,
With cheek unblanched, with forehead unabashed,
Lifted the Baptist his indignant words,
Whether a monarch at their smiting force
Must tremble; or, a publican confess
Their power majestic,—Truth and He were one,
Their challenge fearless, as their cause divine.
For what are station, sceptres, crowns, and courts,
The tyrant's purple, or the victor's plume,
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Produces,—with the blazonry compared
Of Truth, all stern, and simple, and sublimely free?
And, when this hero of th' Almighty dared
Full on the vices of a pampered King
The crushing bolt of his rebuke to cast,
Say, was he not, by that intrepid deed
Raised to nobility, beyond mere blood
To rival?—mid the peerage of pure souls
Exalted, where the patent is by worth
Drawn out, and by divinity confirmed,
And sealed? Elijah was in him revived:
For on him fell the mantle of his mind
In prowess, zeal, and purity august.—
The rapid eagle, in his sun-ward flight
Cleaving the storm-cloud with resistless wing,
The billow's dash, the torrent's daring plunge,
A Thunder's challenge, or some rock erect
Spurning the ocean in its loud assault
Foaming below it,—each may type impart,
Or dim resemblance of that dreadless saint
May to our fancy yield; who feared his God
And therefore, all created things defied
To awe his purpose, or his soul restrain
From teaching monarchs, and from telling courts
What heaven and law and sanctity require.—
And, when before him front to front he saw
Death or stern Duty in their contrast, stand,
Then He, who mastered circumstance and time
Fetters and frowns, and fascinating smiles,
Like empty, base, and abrogated things,
Followed the last! and let the other come,
Or not,—as might the God of Martyrs choose.
Full on the vices of a pampered King
The crushing bolt of his rebuke to cast,
Say, was he not, by that intrepid deed
Raised to nobility, beyond mere blood
To rival?—mid the peerage of pure souls
Exalted, where the patent is by worth
Drawn out, and by divinity confirmed,
And sealed? Elijah was in him revived:
For on him fell the mantle of his mind
In prowess, zeal, and purity august.—
The rapid eagle, in his sun-ward flight
Cleaving the storm-cloud with resistless wing,
The billow's dash, the torrent's daring plunge,
A Thunder's challenge, or some rock erect
Spurning the ocean in its loud assault
Foaming below it,—each may type impart,
Or dim resemblance of that dreadless saint
May to our fancy yield; who feared his God
And therefore, all created things defied
To awe his purpose, or his soul restrain
From teaching monarchs, and from telling courts
What heaven and law and sanctity require.—
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Death or stern Duty in their contrast, stand,
Then He, who mastered circumstance and time
Fetters and frowns, and fascinating smiles,
Like empty, base, and abrogated things,
Followed the last! and let the other come,
Or not,—as might the God of Martyrs choose.
Thy brave resolve, oh! Eremite inspired,
Yet doth it warm our spirit into zeal;
E'en from the depth of ages does it sound
A summons through the heart; and bid the bold,
Who preach repentance, and with stern rebuke
Before the Great Ones of the earth appear,
To learn defiance from thy dauntless mien,
And send their message to the heart, right home,
Though all the answer be,—our slaughtered clay!
Forward! thou man of God! no dread be thine;
Truth, like her Master, must a martyr be
In flesh, or spirit, till the Devil's chain
Clank in the darkness of his thousand years
Around him, and enthroned Messiah reigns
In pomp millennial o'er this peaceful world.
Yet doth it warm our spirit into zeal;
E'en from the depth of ages does it sound
A summons through the heart; and bid the bold,
Who preach repentance, and with stern rebuke
Before the Great Ones of the earth appear,
To learn defiance from thy dauntless mien,
And send their message to the heart, right home,
Though all the answer be,—our slaughtered clay!
Forward! thou man of God! no dread be thine;
Truth, like her Master, must a martyr be
In flesh, or spirit, till the Devil's chain
Clank in the darkness of his thousand years
Around him, and enthroned Messiah reigns
In pomp millennial o'er this peaceful world.
Courage, methinks, that gory charger breathes
Where lay in death thy consecrated head,
Heroic Baptist!—Though thy lips were mute,
And thy shut eyeballs, sealed in bloody close,
No longer on polluted Herod shot,
The lustre of their indignation bright,—
The messenger, but not thy message, ceased
For God to plead: and when thy form returned
Back to the speechless dust, where whelming Death
To humble silence all this talking world
Reduces,—Truth thy pure avenger was.
Revel, nor banquet, harp, nor heathen song,
Nor the gay pastimes of his paramour,
That beautiful Destruction!—could protect
The soul of Herod from thy haunting shape
Oh, murdered Seer! whose blood to Heaven up-cried.
Not day, with all its brilliancy of joy;
Or night, with all its quietude of shade;
Music, nor riot, nor the gauds of state
The Still Small Voice could ever drown, or daunt;
Sleeping, or waking, still his guilt remained
A sightless Fury, that with secret lash
Scourged his pale conscience to the brink of Hell
Forever! On his dreams the Baptist rose,
There on the charger lay the murdered head
Bleeding and ghastly! still, the curse of crime
Fevered the water, ere his lip it cooled,
Poisoned with bitterness the bread He ate,
Took from the skies their glory, from the grass
Its verdure, from the flowers their precious bloom,
In music made all melody to cease,
And, often into ghastliness and guilt
Changed the young beauty of Herodias' cheek
Before him!—Life was one long agony,
Felt in the soul, self-crucified by sin.
Thus did Remorse God's truth defend, and guard.
When the brave Herald could no longer lift
His voice for virtue; that no death could reach,
Or stifle; but, in hours of horrid gloom,
Held by a hair above the burning Pit
Of vengeance, did the blood-stained monarch seem
To shudder; and in dreams, as if to drop
Down through its depths, unutterably dark
And deep'ning! Thus, when Christ himself unveil'd
By miracles, which made Creation bow
In motion, matter and eternal mind,
The cow'ring Herod in Messiah dreamt
He saw his victim! such the power of guilt,
And such the homage perjured hearts must pay
To truth, though death and murder intervene.
Where lay in death thy consecrated head,
Heroic Baptist!—Though thy lips were mute,
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No longer on polluted Herod shot,
The lustre of their indignation bright,—
The messenger, but not thy message, ceased
For God to plead: and when thy form returned
Back to the speechless dust, where whelming Death
To humble silence all this talking world
Reduces,—Truth thy pure avenger was.
Revel, nor banquet, harp, nor heathen song,
Nor the gay pastimes of his paramour,
That beautiful Destruction!—could protect
The soul of Herod from thy haunting shape
Oh, murdered Seer! whose blood to Heaven up-cried.
Not day, with all its brilliancy of joy;
Or night, with all its quietude of shade;
Music, nor riot, nor the gauds of state
The Still Small Voice could ever drown, or daunt;
Sleeping, or waking, still his guilt remained
A sightless Fury, that with secret lash
Scourged his pale conscience to the brink of Hell
Forever! On his dreams the Baptist rose,
There on the charger lay the murdered head
Bleeding and ghastly! still, the curse of crime
Fevered the water, ere his lip it cooled,
Poisoned with bitterness the bread He ate,
Took from the skies their glory, from the grass
Its verdure, from the flowers their precious bloom,
218
And, often into ghastliness and guilt
Changed the young beauty of Herodias' cheek
Before him!—Life was one long agony,
Felt in the soul, self-crucified by sin.
Thus did Remorse God's truth defend, and guard.
When the brave Herald could no longer lift
His voice for virtue; that no death could reach,
Or stifle; but, in hours of horrid gloom,
Held by a hair above the burning Pit
Of vengeance, did the blood-stained monarch seem
To shudder; and in dreams, as if to drop
Down through its depths, unutterably dark
And deep'ning! Thus, when Christ himself unveil'd
By miracles, which made Creation bow
In motion, matter and eternal mind,
The cow'ring Herod in Messiah dreamt
He saw his victim! such the power of guilt,
And such the homage perjured hearts must pay
To truth, though death and murder intervene.
In conscience, no man makes a Sadducee;
For Memory hath a resurrection there
Solemn, as fearful!—There, the deed long done,
The falsehood spoken, or the friend once wronged,
Yea, the whole past of dead experience starts
To life incessant, by the soul renewed!
Thus, conduct is immortal; and the Truth
Hath no chronology, as God no change
Can suffer: therefore, may our perilled lives
In guilt no echoes of stained Herod's be;
But, like the Baptist, let us fear our God alone,
And march to duty through the gates of death!
Assured that time is justice to the true,
And no man preaches like a martyr's grave:
Though mute to sense, magnificent to soul,
The best of orators,—a Tomb becomes,
When Faith and Suff'ring this inscription bear,
“Here sleeps the dust by Deity inspired
To fight for noble truth, and scorn to fear
The frown of tyrants, or the face of clay.”
For Memory hath a resurrection there
Solemn, as fearful!—There, the deed long done,
The falsehood spoken, or the friend once wronged,
Yea, the whole past of dead experience starts
To life incessant, by the soul renewed!
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Hath no chronology, as God no change
Can suffer: therefore, may our perilled lives
In guilt no echoes of stained Herod's be;
But, like the Baptist, let us fear our God alone,
And march to duty through the gates of death!
Assured that time is justice to the true,
And no man preaches like a martyr's grave:
Though mute to sense, magnificent to soul,
The best of orators,—a Tomb becomes,
When Faith and Suff'ring this inscription bear,
“Here sleeps the dust by Deity inspired
To fight for noble truth, and scorn to fear
The frown of tyrants, or the face of clay.”
| Sacred Meditations and Moral Themes In Verse | |