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The Sanctuary

A Companion in Verse for the English Prayer Book. By Robert Montgomery

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St. Matthias' Day.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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St. Matthias' Day.

“Almighty God, who into the place of the traitor Judas didst choose thy faithful servant Matthias.” —Collect for the Day.

Lov'd, and yet lost! oh, God of worlds and souls,
A mental Antichrist mere Reason grows
When o'er such mystery her eye-glance rolls,—
To scan profoundly what Thy wisdom knows.

235

Round man a limiting horizon lies
Against whose everlasting bounds and bars
Mind turns to madness, when it vainly tries
To burst them through and soar beyond the stars!
Be this the creed all heaven-taught spirits own,—
That sin is human, holiness divine,
And they who perish, from their wills alone
That way derive to which bad hearts incline.
Decrees which petrify the fount of grace
Our Church repudiates with holy dread,
And greets redemption for the human race
In that great Victim who on Calv'ry bled.
The un-creation of apostate will,—
Sin must be measur'd by the guilt of man,
Whose free elections in the flesh fulfill
No other purpose but corruption's plan.
On the fair brightness of this festal day
Clouds of deep awe a shading dimness throw,
But in pure faith we let them pass away,—
“What now I do, hereafter ye shall know!”
Such were the soothing tones, St. Peter heard
Who inly question'd what Emanuel did,
Till the deep wisdom of th' Incarnate Word
The asking boldness of his heart forbid.
Yet, lesson'd are we by the fearful thought
That he who wore an apostolic crown
Above all monarchs' with true glory fraught,—
In treason lived, till murder laid it down!
Warn'd and re-warn'd by many a prescient tone
And word significant, for conscience meant,
Seems it as though Iscariot might have known
The coming shadow of that dread event.

236

But blinding avarice the soul beset,
Satan and self their covenant had made,
And not till ruin'd, felt the wild regret
For blasted vows and innocence betray'd.
Priests of the Lord,—let Judas warn them well
Lest in some heart a secret germ may hide
Of that which hurl'd him to the lowest hell,
At once a traitor and a suicide!
If lucre-dreams not love for souls inspire
The impious mocker, who presumes to say
“Come, Holy Ghost; and with celestial fire
Purge the vile dross of sin and self away,”
Alas, for him! but grace and truth are Thine,
And through the channels of Thy church can flow;
The hands are human, but the gifts divine
Which all their virtue to Thy merit owe,—
Who art of sacraments the vital Spring,
Their viewless Source of purity and power
When souls their sacrifice of worship bring
And throng thy Temple, in devotion's hour.
Nor should false worldlings in their pride forget,
If lust of income o'er the conscience reign
Some heart of Judas may be throbbing yet
And act, in principle, his crime again!
And, Lord of souls, let faithful shepherds feed
The Flock committed unto past'ral care;
Not lured by gain, but finding all their meed
When Glory's fold shall see true converts there.
 

John xiii. 7.