The poetical works of John Nicholson ... Carefully edited from the original editions, with additional notes and a sketch of his life and writings. By W. G. Hird |
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ON THE NEW CHURCH AT WILSDEN. |
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 | The poetical works of John Nicholson |  |
ON THE NEW CHURCH AT WILSDEN.
What temples, various, since old Time began,
Have on this little globe been reared by man!
What different kinds of gods been worshipped here,
Since earth, new formed, was balanced in the sphere
Some, ere the pointed pyramids arose,
In lands remote, which scarce a modern knows.
The sumptuous Jewish temples—where are they,
Which seemed to scorn old ruin and decay?
When cost was nought,—and Asia, at command
Brought forth its treasures to the builder's hand:
But now—would Europe golden millions give
One column from these fabrics to receive,
'Tis all in vain,—no stone nor Hebrew bust,
But cent'ries since have been reduced to dust!
All the old temples built when Hesiod sung,
And those which stood when Homer's harp was strung,
Are covered o'er with herbage or with trees,
And not one stone the antiquarian sees.
The abbeys where “Te Deum” oft was sung,
And where the instruments of music rung,
Where “Venite Exultemus” used to rise
In praise devout, ascending to the skies,
Are clothed with ivy in its solemn green,
And modern artists pencil o'er the scene.
Successive storms the tow'rs in furrows wear,
And on their columns dampy sweats appear;
The creeping shrubs upon the arches grow
Suspended o'er the humbler weeds below;
And high engraved upon the time-worn scroll,
Scarce legible, the words, “Pray for the soul.”
The grass waves wildly on the broken wall,
And ev'ry year some time-worn fragments fall.
Have on this little globe been reared by man!
What different kinds of gods been worshipped here,
Since earth, new formed, was balanced in the sphere
Some, ere the pointed pyramids arose,
In lands remote, which scarce a modern knows.
The sumptuous Jewish temples—where are they,
Which seemed to scorn old ruin and decay?
216
Brought forth its treasures to the builder's hand:
But now—would Europe golden millions give
One column from these fabrics to receive,
'Tis all in vain,—no stone nor Hebrew bust,
But cent'ries since have been reduced to dust!
All the old temples built when Hesiod sung,
And those which stood when Homer's harp was strung,
Are covered o'er with herbage or with trees,
And not one stone the antiquarian sees.
The abbeys where “Te Deum” oft was sung,
And where the instruments of music rung,
Where “Venite Exultemus” used to rise
In praise devout, ascending to the skies,
Are clothed with ivy in its solemn green,
And modern artists pencil o'er the scene.
Successive storms the tow'rs in furrows wear,
And on their columns dampy sweats appear;
The creeping shrubs upon the arches grow
Suspended o'er the humbler weeds below;
And high engraved upon the time-worn scroll,
Scarce legible, the words, “Pray for the soul.”
The grass waves wildly on the broken wall,
And ev'ry year some time-worn fragments fall.
Not so with thee, thou church, so fair and new,
White as the polished marble to the view.
Ere any stone is loosened from thy wall,
New states shall rise, and present empires fall!
Perhaps, like Greece, old Albion shall decay,
Ere those fine columns shall be worn away;
Its commerce and its glory be no more,
And science fled to some far distant shore.
With lofty trees thou may'st be circled round,—
And here the deep-toned organ yet may sound.
A town may flourish on this barren hill,
Renowned for science, commerce, wealth, and skill!
White as the polished marble to the view.
217
New states shall rise, and present empires fall!
Perhaps, like Greece, old Albion shall decay,
Ere those fine columns shall be worn away;
Its commerce and its glory be no more,
And science fled to some far distant shore.
With lofty trees thou may'st be circled round,—
And here the deep-toned organ yet may sound.
A town may flourish on this barren hill,
Renowned for science, commerce, wealth, and skill!
Here shall some pastor, learned, good, and just,
In solemn pause resign the dust to dust,—
Perform each office with a pious care,
And cheer the wretched sinking in despair.
In solemn pause resign the dust to dust,—
Perform each office with a pious care,
And cheer the wretched sinking in despair.
The bride, with modest blushes on her face,
Shall lightly tread across the hallowed place,
So filled with joy when to the altar led,
Joy, mixed with fear,—a momentary dread!
Here will the pious sons and daughters mourn,
As slowly from a parent's tomb they turn;
Here shall the tuneful youths, the virgin train,
Join with the organ in a holy strain,
Touched by the sweet expressive warbling trills,
Which give the undescribed cold shiv'ring thrills,
Such as to those with feeling minds are giv'n,
Which charm the soul, and lift it up to heav'n!
Shall lightly tread across the hallowed place,
So filled with joy when to the altar led,
Joy, mixed with fear,—a momentary dread!
Here will the pious sons and daughters mourn,
As slowly from a parent's tomb they turn;
Here shall the tuneful youths, the virgin train,
Join with the organ in a holy strain,
Touched by the sweet expressive warbling trills,
Which give the undescribed cold shiv'ring thrills,
Such as to those with feeling minds are giv'n,
Which charm the soul, and lift it up to heav'n!
218
But diff'rent sects in time may yet arise,—
The present doctrines of the Church despise;
A future reformation yet may come,
And o'er our blessed religion cast a gloom.
Such great mutations have all earthly things—
How oft have creeds been changed by different kings!
The future generations yet may hope
For heav'nly bliss through pardons from the pope.
The cross, the holy water, and the shrine
Of some famed saint, may yet be thought divine!
But whatsoever doctrine here is giv'n,
May each succeeding pastor teach the way to heav'n!
The present doctrines of the Church despise;
A future reformation yet may come,
And o'er our blessed religion cast a gloom.
Such great mutations have all earthly things—
How oft have creeds been changed by different kings!
The future generations yet may hope
For heav'nly bliss through pardons from the pope.
The cross, the holy water, and the shrine
Of some famed saint, may yet be thought divine!
But whatsoever doctrine here is giv'n,
May each succeeding pastor teach the way to heav'n!
| The poetical works of John Nicholson | |