The Sanctuary A Companion in Verse for the English Prayer Book. By Robert Montgomery |
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Ash-Wednesday.
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 | The Sanctuary |  |
Ash-Wednesday.
‘Create and make in us new and contrite hearts, that we, worthily
lamenting our sins, &c.”
—Collect for the Day.
The Man of Sorrows, in Whose tear
The Church can type her own career,
The God-Man, Whose profound extremes combined
Whate'er of glory and of gloom
His awful Person could assume,—
On Mourners stamp'd the name of “blest” mankind.
The Church can type her own career,
The God-Man, Whose profound extremes combined
Whate'er of glory and of gloom
His awful Person could assume,—
On Mourners stamp'd the name of “blest” mankind.
But, not o'er all sad Minds, which mourn
Like orphans in a world forlorn,
Have lips Almighty thus pronounced the, “bless'd;”
For, grief is oft a selfish chord,
Whose earth-tones can no proof afford.
That God and grace have e'er the Will imprest.
Like orphans in a world forlorn,
137
For, grief is oft a selfish chord,
Whose earth-tones can no proof afford.
That God and grace have e'er the Will imprest.
The mourners, who “about the streets”
Of thronging life the stranger meets,
Full often are they but proud Sin in tears:—
'Tis worldly sorrow, working death,
Which now intones their anguish'd breath,
And fetters them with darkness, and with fears.
Of thronging life the stranger meets,
Full often are they but proud Sin in tears:—
'Tis worldly sorrow, working death,
Which now intones their anguish'd breath,
And fetters them with darkness, and with fears.
Spent Minds, like these, none dare believe
Are purely blest, because they grieve,
Or pine, that earth no more their heaven supplies;
But blest are they, who mourn within
The rankling wound of venom'd sin,
Waking, beyond all woe, their soul-heaved sighs.
Are purely blest, because they grieve,
Or pine, that earth no more their heaven supplies;
But blest are they, who mourn within
The rankling wound of venom'd sin,
Waking, beyond all woe, their soul-heaved sighs.
For, sin is that stupendous grief
Which, out of God, finds no relief,—
A tainting curse that cleaves to flesh, and soul;
And, so abhorr'd around The Throne,
The very Heavens appear to groan,
And bow dejected at its dread control!
Which, out of God, finds no relief,—
A tainting curse that cleaves to flesh, and soul;
And, so abhorr'd around The Throne,
The very Heavens appear to groan,
And bow dejected at its dread control!
'Tis true, bland nature's tear-drops flow
To mark cold earth a churchyard grow,
While tombs rise countless as the waves at sea;
Sickness and sorrow, change and care,
And pale-worn features, ev'ry where
Reveal the hollowness vain life must be.
To mark cold earth a churchyard grow,
While tombs rise countless as the waves at sea;
Sickness and sorrow, change and care,
And pale-worn features, ev'ry where
Reveal the hollowness vain life must be.
But, Zion's mourners grieve, and pine,
To think that Law and Love divine
O'er caitiff Man can wield such transient sway,—
How all the Trinity of grace
One bosom-sin will oft displace,
And give to passion's dream its boundless play.
To think that Law and Love divine
O'er caitiff Man can wield such transient sway,—
How all the Trinity of grace
One bosom-sin will oft displace,
And give to passion's dream its boundless play.
138
Such weepers mourn before the Lamb,
And cry, “Oh! wretched that I am!
Who shall deliver me, and burst my chain?”—
Their hearts are crush'd, and inly rent
To find what base alloy is blent
With that “fine gold,” where virtue feels no stain.
And cry, “Oh! wretched that I am!
Who shall deliver me, and burst my chain?”—
Their hearts are crush'd, and inly rent
To find what base alloy is blent
With that “fine gold,” where virtue feels no stain.
For this, they blush, and burden'd lie;
In self-abhorrence, droop and sigh;
And, when they think on Jesu's awful groan,
Or, how the garden soil was wet
And crimson'd with His bloody sweat,—
Their hearts beat prayer, which Godhead hears alone!
In self-abhorrence, droop and sigh;
And, when they think on Jesu's awful groan,
Or, how the garden soil was wet
And crimson'd with His bloody sweat,—
Their hearts beat prayer, which Godhead hears alone!
'Tis here, a grief sublime appears;
And rays of glory light the tears
Of souls, which mourn for Heaven's almighty wrong:
Oh! then descends the Paraclete
And calms them with mild comfort meet,
And turns their sadness to victorious song.
And rays of glory light the tears
Of souls, which mourn for Heaven's almighty wrong:
Oh! then descends the Paraclete
And calms them with mild comfort meet,
And turns their sadness to victorious song.
Dejected Minds, who thus are blest,
By sealing grace may be impress'd
And bland and meek as Charity become:
Reflective awe and deep'ning prayer
The growing work of God declare,
And bid them pant for Heaven's unclouded home.
By sealing grace may be impress'd
And bland and meek as Charity become:
Reflective awe and deep'ning prayer
The growing work of God declare,
And bid them pant for Heaven's unclouded home.
So, when these days of darkness cease,
And holy death shall bring release
From sorrow's gloom, and sin's intense alloy,—
How will they glory in that God
Who said, while earth's bleak wilds they trod,
That they who sow in tears, shall reap in joy!
And holy death shall bring release
From sorrow's gloom, and sin's intense alloy,—
How will they glory in that God
Who said, while earth's bleak wilds they trod,
That they who sow in tears, shall reap in joy!
| The Sanctuary | |