The Sanctuary A Companion in Verse for the English Prayer Book. By Robert Montgomery |
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 | The Sanctuary |  |
Amen.
“The people shall answer here, and at the end of all other Prayers—‘Amen.’”
—Prayer Book.
Lift we now the loud
“Amen”
In the Temple, where and when
The living Name of Christ is lauded;
But except a speaking heart
Echo what our lips impart,
Our worship is of soul defrauded.
In the Temple, where and when
The living Name of Christ is lauded;
But except a speaking heart
Echo what our lips impart,
Our worship is of soul defrauded.
In that word a world of truth
Is enshrined for Age and Youth,
Far deeper than all thought discerneth;—
By it broad assent is given
To that Creed, in hell or heaven,
Sinner, or saint, for ever learneth!
Is enshrined for Age and Youth,
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By it broad assent is given
To that Creed, in hell or heaven,
Sinner, or saint, for ever learneth!
'Tis indeed a boundless thought
With unfathom'd myst'ry fraught,—
Eternity is thus affected
By a tone that never dies,
But which soars beyond the skies
Howe'er by impious mock rejected!
With unfathom'd myst'ry fraught,—
Eternity is thus affected
By a tone that never dies,
But which soars beyond the skies
Howe'er by impious mock rejected!
Yet, if Life the lips repeat
When baptised Adorers meet,
And with their speech and soul assenting
Thrill some Angel on his throne,
When he hears the heaven-raised tone
From raptured hosts, or hearts repenting,—
When baptised Adorers meet,
And with their speech and soul assenting
Thrill some Angel on his throne,
When he hears the heaven-raised tone
From raptured hosts, or hearts repenting,—
Let no dread their worship chill!
God and Grace are present still,
And unto love will ne'er be wanting:
If our Will endure the Cross
Deeming sin our only loss,
The “Amen” loud let souls be chanting.
God and Grace are present still,
And unto love will ne'er be wanting:
If our Will endure the Cross
Deeming sin our only loss,
The “Amen” loud let souls be chanting.
Deepen thus, the dreadless sound,
'Till the vaulted aisles rebound,
Nave, roof, and arch, with “Amens” thrilling,—
When the Easter of our soul
Bids the paschal thunder roll,
Angelic hearts with echoes filling.
'Till the vaulted aisles rebound,
Nave, roof, and arch, with “Amens” thrilling,—
When the Easter of our soul
Bids the paschal thunder roll,
Angelic hearts with echoes filling.
Yet, once more, and still again
Lift on high the full-voiced strain!—
God's ancient Martyrs thus reviving
When their anthem'd worship soar'd
Unto Him their lives adored,
Till earth with heaven in praise seem'd striving.
Lift on high the full-voiced strain!—
God's ancient Martyrs thus reviving
When their anthem'd worship soar'd
Unto Him their lives adored,
Till earth with heaven in praise seem'd striving.
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All the Church's book presents,
Creed, or Prayer, or Sacraments,—
What are they, but a Voice supernal
From those changeless Truths divine
Veil'd within the awful Shrine
Of Christ, Who is their Source eternal?
Creed, or Prayer, or Sacraments,—
What are they, but a Voice supernal
From those changeless Truths divine
Veil'd within the awful Shrine
Of Christ, Who is their Source eternal?
Hast thou heard the wave-tongued Sea
Hymning praise to Deity
With choral billows, vast and heaving?
Or, rude surges in their roar
When they beat the throbbing shore,
Both far and wide a foam-trace leaving
Hymning praise to Deity
With choral billows, vast and heaving?
Or, rude surges in their roar
When they beat the throbbing shore,
Both far and wide a foam-trace leaving
Or, in some poetic mood
Listen'd to a leafy wood
Roused by the whirl-blast, wild and rushing
Or, alone in vernal bower
Lull'd by its elysian power,
Been lapp'd in dreams, by fountain gushing?—
Listen'd to a leafy wood
Roused by the whirl-blast, wild and rushing
Or, alone in vernal bower
Lull'd by its elysian power,
Been lapp'd in dreams, by fountain gushing?—
Not in each, or all is found
Such religion in their sound,
As Temples hear from lips repeating
In liturgic swells of song
“Amen,” as it swells along,—
Timed by the heart's profoundest beating.
Such religion in their sound,
As Temples hear from lips repeating
In liturgic swells of song
“Amen,” as it swells along,—
Timed by the heart's profoundest beating.
Ask not, if the aisles august
Where dead Immortals in mute dust
Under sepulchral pomp are lying—
Echoed are by such deep word?
Or, in village-fane be heard
A peasant-choir to Priest replying:
Where dead Immortals in mute dust
Under sepulchral pomp are lying—
Echoed are by such deep word?
Or, in village-fane be heard
A peasant-choir to Priest replying:
Let but heart-toned prayer reveal
What adoring bosoms feel,
And Saints with Seraphim are blending,—
“Amen” when Devotion cries
Till the angel-crowded skies
Reverberate that voice ascending!
What adoring bosoms feel,
And Saints with Seraphim are blending,—
“Amen” when Devotion cries
Till the angel-crowded skies
Reverberate that voice ascending!
| The Sanctuary | |