The Sanctuary :: :: University of Virginia Library

The primal Altar was a shrine of praise
Erected on the sod,
When rescued Noah, with adoring gaze,
Forth from the Ark of God
Came at command,—and saw the world around
In deathful slumber bound,
But still, deliver'd from that penal flood
Whose waves of awful ire above the mountains stood!

In dripping brightness greenly shone the earth
Where golden sun-gleams smiled;
As if Creation, like a second birth,
No more by sin defiled,—
Fresh from the cradle of dread waters rose,
And, safe from future woes,
Renew'd that radiance her young features wore
When Adam's priestly heart did first his God adore.

And, ever may this virgin-altar preach
Sermons of holy love,
To that true Church, whom vaster mercies reach
Than Noah saw above,
When the calm Bow with curving beauty spread
A symbol o'er his head:—
For, what it preach'd, our Ark of grace enshrines
In sacramental depths, where Love with Life combines.

Fair weather from the fresh'ning North proceeds;
But, in these changes all,
When climate brings to man's perpetual needs
What men “fair weather” call,
The pure expressions of His perfect will
Creation-laws fulfill,
Whether by blast, or breeze, in cloud, or sun,—
Whom Saints and Angels crown the God-revealing One!

Now, while the howling blasts lie hush'd and still,
The blazonry of storms
No longer darkens o'er the cloud-veiled hills
In fierce and thund'rous forms;
The whirlwinds fold their tossing plumes to rest;
And ocean's waveless breast
Mirrors the sunbeam, whose incessant play
Breaks o'er the dimpling tide, which heaven's soft hues array.

God of fair Weather! hymns to Thee we lift
O Thou! That hearest prayer,
From Whom descends each atmospheric gift
Thy lauding People share;
The plague of waters might we justly meet,—
But, on the Mercy-seat
Reigns that Incarnate Priest, to Whom we pray,
Under Whose calming gaze all tempests clear away.

And thus, an omnipresent Gospel dwells,
In symbol, or in sign,
Through vast creation, whose material spells
Image the Cross divine,—

Each, by mute eloquence, proclaiming Him
Whom Souls and Seraphim
With blended unity of praise adore,
And in Whose heart are shrined all blessings now in store.

The hush of Nature is a holy thing,
A calm which hath a Creed:
For, e'en as Tempests unto conscience bring
Mem'ries which make it bleed,
Typing the guilt these storm-clouds well present
That shade the firmament,—
So, in the balm and beauty of bright weather,
Christ and Creation seem by Mercy brought together.

Lyre of the heart! let all thy chorded praise
Vibrate with lauding zeal;
And unto Him, Devotion, lift thy gaze
In Whom all gifts reveal
A pardon infinite, by anguish gain'd
Upon the Cross blood-stained,
When He hung there, between the earth and sky,
While Heaven look down amazed, to see her Maker die!

Hence, awful are our mercies! bleeding Lord,
When each by Scripture read,
Since they are mottoed by a mystic word
Which speaks,—“Thy Saviour bled!”
Bled to redeem what guilt to ruin gave,
And none prevailed to save,
But Love Incarnate, in Whose Person met
Merit and Manhood both, to pay sin's boundless debt!

And, e'en as Aaron on his raiment wore
Mysterious Bells, whose tone
Sounded, whene'er he went his God before
Under the mercy-throne,—
So, for each gift let Faith her harp prepare
And laud Him ev'rywhere,
On Whose vast merit hangs Creation's whole,
Not less the Lord of earth, than Saviour of the soul!

Gen. ix. 13.

Job xxxvii. 11.