The Sanctuary A Companion in Verse for the English Prayer Book. By Robert Montgomery |
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5. Supplication.
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 | The Sanctuary |  |
5. Supplication.
“We beseech Thee to hear us, Good Lord.”
—Prayer Book.
With ardency, and not by Art
Which earth-born skill inspires,
Our Litany its closing part
Rolls through responsive quires;
Instinct with all that plaintive tone
By persecution's horde
Drawn from the Church, when left alone
To suffer for her Lord;—
Which earth-born skill inspires,
Our Litany its closing part
Rolls through responsive quires;
Instinct with all that plaintive tone
By persecution's horde
Drawn from the Church, when left alone
To suffer for her Lord;—
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Alone to man, and yet sustain'd
By Him, the Ever-Nigh!
When blood and battle round Her reign'd
And war-fiends revell'd by:
E'en then, while Rome's barbaric foes
Trampled an Empire down,
The Church in prayer to God arose
And won her martyr-crown.
By Him, the Ever-Nigh!
When blood and battle round Her reign'd
And war-fiends revell'd by:
E'en then, while Rome's barbaric foes
Trampled an Empire down,
The Church in prayer to God arose
And won her martyr-crown.
The Crucified became Her Strength,
The Cross, a weapon'd charm;
And by Love's chivalry, at length,
Was quell'd satanic harm:
Mighty through meekness, thus she stood
Miraculous by grace!
And proved how martyr'd virtue could
Rescue a perill'd race.
The Cross, a weapon'd charm;
And by Love's chivalry, at length,
Was quell'd satanic harm:
Mighty through meekness, thus she stood
Miraculous by grace!
And proved how martyr'd virtue could
Rescue a perill'd race.
What, though the hour of blood be past,
Yet, militant on earth,
Her lot amid that world is cast
Who hates her awful worth:
Still must she weep, and fast, and fight,
And reap no placid rest,
But feel dejection's aching might
Burden her wounded breast.
Yet, militant on earth,
Her lot amid that world is cast
Who hates her awful worth:
Still must she weep, and fast, and fight,
And reap no placid rest,
But feel dejection's aching might
Burden her wounded breast.
Hence, lift we now, as once of old
United Martyrs did,
Those Litanies which often roll'd
From Saints, in caverns hid,
When, hunted there by blood-hound zeal,
Mangled adorers came,
And felt, as only Martyrs feel,—
His sacramental Name
United Martyrs did,
Those Litanies which often roll'd
From Saints, in caverns hid,
When, hunted there by blood-hound zeal,
Mangled adorers came,
And felt, as only Martyrs feel,—
His sacramental Name
Who, in the fire and flood alike,
As 'mid the Temple-calm,
Though Rage her direst terror strike,
Breathes omnipresent balm!—
That peace which Purity bestows,
The Halcyon of His grace,
Whose promise through portentous woes
Points to a heaven-bright place!
As 'mid the Temple-calm,
Though Rage her direst terror strike,
Breathes omnipresent balm!—
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The Halcyon of His grace,
Whose promise through portentous woes
Points to a heaven-bright place!
Thus, Lamb of God! dread Sacrifice!
For mercy still we pray;
Nor shall the incense-prayers that rise
Melt in mere breath away,—
But, pleading at Thy Heart, shall bring
Celestial answers down,
And prompt the saddest Hour to sing,
“The Cross shall win the Crown!”
For mercy still we pray;
Nor shall the incense-prayers that rise
Melt in mere breath away,—
But, pleading at Thy Heart, shall bring
Celestial answers down,
And prompt the saddest Hour to sing,
“The Cross shall win the Crown!”
Atoner for the World's vast sin!
Our ransom-Price is paid,
And all we bear, without, within,
When by Thy truth array'd,
Is fraught with victory to Faith,
Whate'er the doom may be,—
Whose heart can hear the Love which saith,
“Suffer, and follow Me!”
Our ransom-Price is paid,
And all we bear, without, within,
When by Thy truth array'd,
Is fraught with victory to Faith,
Whate'er the doom may be,—
Whose heart can hear the Love which saith,
“Suffer, and follow Me!”
| The Sanctuary | |