The Sanctuary A Companion in Verse for the English Prayer Book. By Robert Montgomery |
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Fifth Sunday after Trinity.
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 | The Sanctuary |  |
Fifth Sunday after Trinity.
“Love as brethren, be pitiful, be courteous.”
—Epistle for the Day.
The haughty coldness of inhuman Creeds
May scorn Compassion, shedding tears,
And blandly pouring over sorrow's needs
Those genial tones which soften fears;
And, Science may to selfishness ascribe
What soft-eyed Pity for the wretched feels;
But, heaven-born Virtue bears the heathen gibe,
Nor checks the tear that from compassion steals.
May scorn Compassion, shedding tears,
And blandly pouring over sorrow's needs
Those genial tones which soften fears;
And, Science may to selfishness ascribe
What soft-eyed Pity for the wretched feels;
But, heaven-born Virtue bears the heathen gibe,
Nor checks the tear that from compassion steals.
Behold the wisest, bravest, and the best,
The lofty-hearted, firm, and free,
On whose proud name an empire's glories rest,
Who guide the Land, and guard our Sea,—
No leaden calm of unimpassion'd mind
Their boast has been, or proved them brave;
But all pure links, connecting kind with kind,—
They deem'd them holy, and beyond the grave!
The lofty-hearted, firm, and free,
On whose proud name an empire's glories rest,
Who guide the Land, and guard our Sea,—
No leaden calm of unimpassion'd mind
Their boast has been, or proved them brave;
But all pure links, connecting kind with kind,—
They deem'd them holy, and beyond the grave!
Men are not wise, because they cannot weep,
Nor basely soft, because they sigh
When those tear-fountains in true hearts that sleep,
Awake, and dim the sternest eye.
The sainted heroes, canonised by time,
And martyr'd hosts, who burn'd or bled,—
The wide Earth doth not deem them less sublime
Because they soothed the sad, or mourn'd the dead!
Nor basely soft, because they sigh
When those tear-fountains in true hearts that sleep,
Awake, and dim the sternest eye.
The sainted heroes, canonised by time,
And martyr'd hosts, who burn'd or bled,—
186
Because they soothed the sad, or mourn'd the dead!
The perfect God, though passionless as pure,
Hath symbolised His awful Name
By deep emotions, which the heart allure,
And bend the Will before His claim:—
He speaks not only in the whirlwind-tone,
But, with the calm of cooling eve;
And, oft holds back the thunders of His Throne
That dreadless minds may love Him, and believe.
Hath symbolised His awful Name
By deep emotions, which the heart allure,
And bend the Will before His claim:—
He speaks not only in the whirlwind-tone,
But, with the calm of cooling eve;
And, oft holds back the thunders of His Throne
That dreadless minds may love Him, and believe.
| The Sanctuary | |