The poetical works of James Montgomery collected by himself |
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Verses to the Memory OF THE LATE RICHARD REYNOLDS, OF BRISTOL. |
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| II. |
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 | The poetical works of James Montgomery |  |
254
Verses to the Memory OF THE LATE RICHARD REYNOLDS, OF BRISTOL.
257
I. THE DEATH OF THE RIGHTEOUS.
This place is holy ground;
World, with thy cares, away!
Silence and darkness reign around,
But, lo! the break of day:
What bright and sudden dawn appears,
To shine upon this scene of tears?
World, with thy cares, away!
Silence and darkness reign around,
But, lo! the break of day:
What bright and sudden dawn appears,
To shine upon this scene of tears?
'Tis not the morning light,
That wakes the lark to sing;
'Tis not a meteor of the night,
Nor track of angel's wing:
It is an uncreated beam,
Like that which shone on Jacob's dream.
That wakes the lark to sing;
'Tis not a meteor of the night,
Nor track of angel's wing:
It is an uncreated beam,
Like that which shone on Jacob's dream.
Eternity and Time
Met for a moment here;
From earth to heaven, a scale sublime
Rested on either sphere,
Whose steps a saintly figure trod,
By Death's cold hand led home to God.
Met for a moment here;
From earth to heaven, a scale sublime
Rested on either sphere,
Whose steps a saintly figure trod,
By Death's cold hand led home to God.
He landed in our view,
'Midst flaming hosts above;
Whose ranks stood silent, while he drew
Nigh to the throne of love,
And meekly took the lowest seat,
Yet nearest his Redeemer's feet.
'Midst flaming hosts above;
Whose ranks stood silent, while he drew
Nigh to the throne of love,
And meekly took the lowest seat,
Yet nearest his Redeemer's feet.
Thrill'd with ecstatic awe,
Entranced our spirits fell,
And saw—yet wist not what they saw,
And heard—no tongue can tell
What sounds the ear of rapture caught,
What glory fill'd the eye of thought.
Entranced our spirits fell,
And saw—yet wist not what they saw,
And heard—no tongue can tell
What sounds the ear of rapture caught,
What glory fill'd the eye of thought.
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Thus far above the pole,
On wings of mounting fire,
Faith may pursue the' enfranchised soul,
But soon her pinions tire;
It is not given to mortal man
Eternal mysteries to scan.
On wings of mounting fire,
Faith may pursue the' enfranchised soul,
But soon her pinions tire;
It is not given to mortal man
Eternal mysteries to scan.
—Behold the bed of death;
This pale and lovely clay;
Heard ye the sob of parting breath?
Mark'd ye the eye's last ray?
No;—life so sweetly ceased to be,
It lapsed in immortality.
This pale and lovely clay;
Heard ye the sob of parting breath?
Mark'd ye the eye's last ray?
No;—life so sweetly ceased to be,
It lapsed in immortality.
Could tears revive the dead,
Rivers should swell our eyes!
Could sighs recall the spirit fled,
We would not quench our sighs
Till love relumed this alter'd mien,
And all the' embodied soul were seen.
Rivers should swell our eyes!
Could sighs recall the spirit fled,
We would not quench our sighs
Till love relumed this alter'd mien,
And all the' embodied soul were seen.
Bury the dead;—and weep
In stillness o'er the loss;
Bury the dead;—in Christ they sleep,
Who bore on earth His cross,
And from the grave their dust shall rise,
In His own image to the skies.
In stillness o'er the loss;
Bury the dead;—in Christ they sleep,
Who bore on earth His cross,
And from the grave their dust shall rise,
In His own image to the skies.
II. THE MEMORY OF THE JUST.
Strike a louder, loftier lyre;
Bolder, sweeter strains employ;
Wake, Remembrance!—and inspire
Sorrow with the song of joy.
Bolder, sweeter strains employ;
Wake, Remembrance!—and inspire
Sorrow with the song of joy.
Who was He, for whom our tears
Flow'd, and will not cease to flow?
Full of honours and of years,
In the dust his head lies low.
Flow'd, and will not cease to flow?
Full of honours and of years,
In the dust his head lies low.
Yet resurgent from the dust,
Springs aloft his mighty name;
For the memory of the Just
Lives in everlasting fame.
Springs aloft his mighty name;
For the memory of the Just
Lives in everlasting fame.
He was One, whose open face
Did his inmost heart reveal;
One, who wore with meekest grace,
On his forehead, Heaven's broad seal.
Did his inmost heart reveal;
One, who wore with meekest grace,
On his forehead, Heaven's broad seal.
Kindness all his looks express'd,
Charity was every word;
Him the eye beheld, and bless'd;
And the ear rejoiced that heard.
Charity was every word;
Him the eye beheld, and bless'd;
And the ear rejoiced that heard.
Like a patriarchal sage,
Holy, humble, courteous, mild,
He could blend the awe of age
With the sweetness of a child.
Holy, humble, courteous, mild,
He could blend the awe of age
With the sweetness of a child.
As a cedar of the Lord,
On the height of Lebanon,
Shade and shelter doth afford,
From the tempest and the sun:—
On the height of Lebanon,
Shade and shelter doth afford,
From the tempest and the sun:—
While in green luxuriant prime,
Fragrant airs its boughs diffuse,
From its locks it shakes sublime,
O'er the hills, the morning dews:—
Fragrant airs its boughs diffuse,
From its locks it shakes sublime,
O'er the hills, the morning dews:—
Thus he flourish'd, tall and strong,
Glorious in perennial health;
Thus he scatter'd, late and long,
All his plenitude of wealth!—
Glorious in perennial health;
Thus he scatter'd, late and long,
All his plenitude of wealth!—
Wealth, which prodigals had deem'd
Worth the soul's uncounted cost;
Wealth, which misers had esteem'd
Cheap, though heaven itself were lost.
Worth the soul's uncounted cost;
Wealth, which misers had esteem'd
Cheap, though heaven itself were lost.
This, with free unsparing hand
To the poorest child of need,
This he threw around the land,
Like the sower's precious seed.
To the poorest child of need,
This he threw around the land,
Like the sower's precious seed.
In the world's great harvest-day,
Every grain on every ground,
Stony, thorny, by the way,
Shall an hundred-fold be found.
Every grain on every ground,
Stony, thorny, by the way,
Shall an hundred-fold be found.
Yet, like noon's refulgent blaze,
Though he shone from east to west,
Far withdrawn from public gaze,
Secret goodness pleased him best.
Though he shone from east to west,
Far withdrawn from public gaze,
Secret goodness pleased him best.
As the sun, retired from sight,
Through the purple evening gleams,
Or, unrisen, clothes the night
In the morning's golden beams;—
Through the purple evening gleams,
Or, unrisen, clothes the night
In the morning's golden beams;—
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Thus, beneath the' horizon dim,
He would hide his radiant head,
And, on eyes that saw not him,
Light and consolation shed.
He would hide his radiant head,
And, on eyes that saw not him,
Light and consolation shed.
Oft his silent spirit went,
Like an angel from the throne,
On benign commissions bent,
In the fear of God alone.
Like an angel from the throne,
On benign commissions bent,
In the fear of God alone.
Then the widow's heart would sing,
As she turn'd her wheel, for joy;
Then the bliss of hope would spring
On the outcast orphan-boy.
As she turn'd her wheel, for joy;
Then the bliss of hope would spring
On the outcast orphan-boy.
To the blind, the deaf, the lame,
To the ignorant and vile,
Stranger, captive, slave, he came
With a welcome and a smile.
To the ignorant and vile,
Stranger, captive, slave, he came
With a welcome and a smile.
Help to all he did dispense,
Gold, instruction, raiment, food,
Like the gifts of Providence,
To the evil and the good.
Gold, instruction, raiment, food,
Like the gifts of Providence,
To the evil and the good.
Deeds of mercy, deeds unknown,
Shall eternity record,
Which he durst not call his own,
For he did them to the Lord.
Shall eternity record,
Which he durst not call his own,
For he did them to the Lord.
As the Earth puts forth her flowers,
Heaven-ward breathing from below;
As the clouds descend in showers,
When the southern breezes blow;—
Heaven-ward breathing from below;
As the clouds descend in showers,
When the southern breezes blow;—
Thus his renovated mind,
Warm with pure celestial love,
Shed its influence on mankind,
While its hopes aspired above.
Warm with pure celestial love,
Shed its influence on mankind,
While its hopes aspired above.
Full of faith at length he died,
And, victorious in the race,
Won the crown for which he vied—
Not of merit, but of grace.
And, victorious in the race,
Won the crown for which he vied—
Not of merit, but of grace.
III. A GOOD MAN'S MONUMENT.
The pyre, that burns the aged Bramin's bones,
Runs cold in blood, and issues living groans,
When the whole Haram with the husband dies,
And demons dance around the sacrifice.
Runs cold in blood, and issues living groans,
When the whole Haram with the husband dies,
And demons dance around the sacrifice.
In savage realms, when tyrants yield their breath,
Herds, flocks, and slaves, attend their lord in death;
Arms, chariots, carcasses, a horrid heap,
Rust at his side, or share his mouldering sleep.
Herds, flocks, and slaves, attend their lord in death;
Arms, chariots, carcasses, a horrid heap,
Rust at his side, or share his mouldering sleep.
When heroes fall triumphant on the plain;
For millions conquer'd, and ten thousands slain;
For cities levell'd, kingdoms drench'd in blood,
Navies annihilated on the flood;
—The pageantry of public grief requires
The splendid homage of heroic lyres
And genius moulds impassion'd brass to breathe
The deathless spirit of the dust beneath,
Calls marble honour from its cavern'd bed,
And bids it live—the proxy of the dead.
For millions conquer'd, and ten thousands slain;
For cities levell'd, kingdoms drench'd in blood,
Navies annihilated on the flood;
—The pageantry of public grief requires
The splendid homage of heroic lyres
And genius moulds impassion'd brass to breathe
The deathless spirit of the dust beneath,
Calls marble honour from its cavern'd bed,
And bids it live—the proxy of the dead.
Reynolds expires, a nobler chief than these;
No blood of widows stains his obsequies;
But widows' tears, in sad bereavement, fall,
And foundling voices on their father call:
No slaves, no hecatombs, his relics crave,
To gorge the worm, and crowd his quiet grave;
But sweet repose his slumbering ashes find,
As if in Salem's sepulchre enshrined,
And watching angels waited for the day
When Christ should bid them roll the stone away.
No blood of widows stains his obsequies;
But widows' tears, in sad bereavement, fall,
And foundling voices on their father call:
No slaves, no hecatombs, his relics crave,
To gorge the worm, and crowd his quiet grave;
But sweet repose his slumbering ashes find,
As if in Salem's sepulchre enshrined,
And watching angels waited for the day
When Christ should bid them roll the stone away.
Not in the fiery hurricane of strife,
'Midst slaughter'd legions, he resign'd his life;
But peaceful as the twilight's parting ray,
His spirit vanish'd from its house of clay,
And left on kindred souls such power imprest,
They seem'd with him to enter into rest.
Hence no vain pomp, his glory to prolong,
No airy immortality of song;
No sculptured imagery, of bronze or stone,
To make his lineaments for ever known,
Reynolds requires:—his labours, merits, name,
Demand a monument of surer fame;
Not to record and praise his virtues past,
But show them living, while the world shall last;
Not to bewail one Reynolds, snatch'd from earth,
But give, in every age, a Reynolds birth;
In every age a Reynolds; born to stand
A prince among the worthies of the land,
By Nature's title, written in his face:
More than a Prince—a sinner saved by grace,
Prompt at his meek and lowly Master's call
To prove himself the minister of all.
'Midst slaughter'd legions, he resign'd his life;
But peaceful as the twilight's parting ray,
His spirit vanish'd from its house of clay,
And left on kindred souls such power imprest,
They seem'd with him to enter into rest.
Hence no vain pomp, his glory to prolong,
No airy immortality of song;
No sculptured imagery, of bronze or stone,
To make his lineaments for ever known,
Reynolds requires:—his labours, merits, name,
Demand a monument of surer fame;
Not to record and praise his virtues past,
But show them living, while the world shall last;
260
But give, in every age, a Reynolds birth;
In every age a Reynolds; born to stand
A prince among the worthies of the land,
By Nature's title, written in his face:
More than a Prince—a sinner saved by grace,
Prompt at his meek and lowly Master's call
To prove himself the minister of all.
Bristol! to thee the eye of Albion turns;
At thought of thee thy country's spirit burns;
For in thy walls, as on her dearest ground,
Are “British minds and British manners” found:
And, 'midst the wealth which Avon's waters pour
From every clime on thy commercial shore,
Thou hast a native mine of worth untold;
Thine heart is not encased in rigid gold,
Wither'd to mummy, steel'd against distress;
No—free as Severn's waves, that spring to bless
Their parent hills, but as they roll expand
In argent beauty through a lovelier land,
And widening, brightening to the western sun,
In floods of glory through thy channel run;
Thence, mingling with the boundless tide, are hurl'd
In ocean's chariot round the utmost world:
Thus flow thine heart-streams, warm and unconfined,
At home, abroad, to woe of every kind.
Worthy wert thou of Reynolds;—worthy he
To rank the first of Britons even in thee.
Reynolds is dead;—thy lap receives his dust
Until the resurrection of the just:
Reynolds is dead; but while thy rivers roll,
Immortal in thy bosom live his soul!
At thought of thee thy country's spirit burns;
For in thy walls, as on her dearest ground,
Are “British minds and British manners” found:
And, 'midst the wealth which Avon's waters pour
From every clime on thy commercial shore,
Thou hast a native mine of worth untold;
Thine heart is not encased in rigid gold,
Wither'd to mummy, steel'd against distress;
No—free as Severn's waves, that spring to bless
Their parent hills, but as they roll expand
In argent beauty through a lovelier land,
And widening, brightening to the western sun,
In floods of glory through thy channel run;
Thence, mingling with the boundless tide, are hurl'd
In ocean's chariot round the utmost world:
Thus flow thine heart-streams, warm and unconfined,
At home, abroad, to woe of every kind.
Worthy wert thou of Reynolds;—worthy he
To rank the first of Britons even in thee.
Reynolds is dead;—thy lap receives his dust
Until the resurrection of the just:
Reynolds is dead; but while thy rivers roll,
Immortal in thy bosom live his soul!
Go, build his monument:—and let it be
Firm as the land, but open as the sea;
Low in his grave the strong foundations lie,
Yet be the dome expansive as the sky,
On crystal pillars resting from above,
Its sole supporters—works of faith and love;
So clear, so pure, that to the keenest sight
They cast no shadow; all within be light:
No walls divide the area, nor enclose;
Charter the whole to every wind that blows;
Then rage the tempest, flash the lightnings blue,
And thunders roll,—they pass unharming through.
Firm as the land, but open as the sea;
Low in his grave the strong foundations lie,
Yet be the dome expansive as the sky,
On crystal pillars resting from above,
Its sole supporters—works of faith and love;
So clear, so pure, that to the keenest sight
They cast no shadow; all within be light:
No walls divide the area, nor enclose;
Charter the whole to every wind that blows;
Then rage the tempest, flash the lightnings blue,
And thunders roll,—they pass unharming through.
One simple altar in the midst be placed,
With this, and only this, inscription graced,
The song of angels at Immanuel's birth,—
“Glory to God! good-will and peace on earth.”
There be thy duteous sons a tribe of priests,
Not offering incense, nor the blood of beasts,
But with their gifts upon that altar spread;
—Health to the sick, and to the hungry bread,
Beneficence to all, their hands shall deal,
With Reynolds' single eye and hallow'd zeal.
Pain, want, misfortune, thither shall repair;
Folly and vice reclaim'd shall worship there
The God of him—in whose transcendent mind
Stood such a temple, free to all mankind:
Thy God, thrice-honour'd city! bids thee raise
That fallen temple, to the end of days:
Obey His voice; fulfil thine high intent;
—Yea, be thyself the Good Man's Monument!
With this, and only this, inscription graced,
The song of angels at Immanuel's birth,—
“Glory to God! good-will and peace on earth.”
There be thy duteous sons a tribe of priests,
Not offering incense, nor the blood of beasts,
But with their gifts upon that altar spread;
—Health to the sick, and to the hungry bread,
Beneficence to all, their hands shall deal,
With Reynolds' single eye and hallow'd zeal.
Pain, want, misfortune, thither shall repair;
Folly and vice reclaim'd shall worship there
The God of him—in whose transcendent mind
Stood such a temple, free to all mankind:
Thy God, thrice-honour'd city! bids thee raise
That fallen temple, to the end of days:
Obey His voice; fulfil thine high intent;
—Yea, be thyself the Good Man's Monument!
1818.
| The poetical works of James Montgomery | |