The Sanctuary A Companion in Verse for the English Prayer Book. By Robert Montgomery |
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Sexagesima Sunday.
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 | The Sanctuary |  |
133
Sexagesima Sunday.
“As a dream when one awaketh.”
—Ps. lxxiii. 20.
“The fashion of this world passeth away.”
—1 Cor. vii. 31.
“In weariness and painfulness.”
—Epistle for the Day.
The shadows of this dying state
To fancy seem, as though they substance were;
Yet Scripture, searching mortal fate,
Predicts our glory to be gilded air.—
But, though impassion'd dreams might be
Embodied into bright reality,
Life's doom would still be overcast,
And leave the heart a Tantalus, at last.
To fancy seem, as though they substance were;
Yet Scripture, searching mortal fate,
Predicts our glory to be gilded air.—
But, though impassion'd dreams might be
Embodied into bright reality,
Life's doom would still be overcast,
And leave the heart a Tantalus, at last.
Alas! that such dominion gain
These fruitless Edens of an o'erwrought brain,
Which grow on falsehood, and deceive
The Mind they dazzle, only to bereave.
Pilgrims of hope, and heirs of Him
Whose Throne is circled by the Seraphim,—
How base we are, when earth-bred things
To this bad world enchain our spirit-wings!
These fruitless Edens of an o'erwrought brain,
Which grow on falsehood, and deceive
The Mind they dazzle, only to bereave.
Pilgrims of hope, and heirs of Him
Whose Throne is circled by the Seraphim,—
How base we are, when earth-bred things
To this bad world enchain our spirit-wings!
Fortune and Fame, the laurel-crown
Of vast Distinction, in adored renown,
Each lauding Voice that lifts on high
Whate'er of gifts enchanted thoughts descry,
Combined with that far deeper bliss
Home, health, and friendship, add to life like this,—
What are they, but those minute-gleams
By sunset mirror'd on the rippled streams!
Of vast Distinction, in adored renown,
Each lauding Voice that lifts on high
Whate'er of gifts enchanted thoughts descry,
Combined with that far deeper bliss
Home, health, and friendship, add to life like this,—
What are they, but those minute-gleams
By sunset mirror'd on the rippled streams!
Would that, sin-blinded Souls might learn
That secret love, so mercifully-stern,
God teaches man by myriad ways
Through the dark windings of imperill'd days!—
This Now of Being is but shade,
In fleeting hues of circumstance array'd,
While, all excited Sense admires,
Faints like a dream-flash, which in gloom expires!
That secret love, so mercifully-stern,
God teaches man by myriad ways
Through the dark windings of imperill'd days!—
This Now of Being is but shade,
In fleeting hues of circumstance array'd,
134
Faints like a dream-flash, which in gloom expires!
By sickness, pain, and harrowing woe,
By cups of anguish, fill'd to overflow;
By dark bereavement's dismal power
And the hush'd pang of many a martyr'd hour;
By inward griefs, by outward glooms
And teaching wisdom of ten thousand tombs—
Our Lord unwinds the World's deceit,
And brings the mourner to His mercy-seat.
By cups of anguish, fill'd to overflow;
By dark bereavement's dismal power
And the hush'd pang of many a martyr'd hour;
By inward griefs, by outward glooms
And teaching wisdom of ten thousand tombs—
Our Lord unwinds the World's deceit,
And brings the mourner to His mercy-seat.
O Thou! Who art the Light of Light,
Clad by Whose beams, our darken'd souls grow bright;
Thou mental Sun, insphered within,—
Shine on these hearts, and scatter every sin!
Each clouding spell, that shades our view
Of dread Hereafter, all divinely-true,
Dissolve; and through Thine healing rays
Kindle cold worship into fervid praise.
Clad by Whose beams, our darken'd souls grow bright;
Thou mental Sun, insphered within,—
Shine on these hearts, and scatter every sin!
Each clouding spell, that shades our view
Of dread Hereafter, all divinely-true,
Dissolve; and through Thine healing rays
Kindle cold worship into fervid praise.
Like bubbles on the tide of Time
Flash the false glories, wordlings call sublime:
But, Grace can disenchant the dream
Which makes mock shadow like a substance seem.
Moulding our Will by plastic law,
And shading Conscience with a secret awe,—
Heaven's viewless Spirit to the soul
Restores the Saviour, by His blest control.
Flash the false glories, wordlings call sublime:
But, Grace can disenchant the dream
Which makes mock shadow like a substance seem.
Moulding our Will by plastic law,
And shading Conscience with a secret awe,—
Heaven's viewless Spirit to the soul
Restores the Saviour, by His blest control.
In our undying bosom wake
The throbbing instincts of Eternity,
And from each world-delusion take
The spells that stand between our soul, and Thee:
While, by Thy Sacrament of Blood,
We pray Thee, Lord! to be our perfect Good,
And learn, what Angels feel above,—
That Heaven, is holiness, and Godhead, love.
The throbbing instincts of Eternity,
And from each world-delusion take
The spells that stand between our soul, and Thee:
While, by Thy Sacrament of Blood,
We pray Thee, Lord! to be our perfect Good,
And learn, what Angels feel above,—
That Heaven, is holiness, and Godhead, love.
| The Sanctuary | |