The Anniversaries Poems in Commemoration of Great Men and Great Events. By Thomas H. Gill |
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September 3.
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September 3.
THE LORD PROTECTOR'S DAY.
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On September 3, 1650, Cromwell prevailed at Dunbar; on September 3, 1651, he triumphed at Worcester; on September 3, 1658, he passed from among men.
“Let God arise! let His enemies be scattered!”
—
Cromwell
on Dunbar Field.
“Yet God will be with His people.”—
Cromwell
on his Death Bed.
O England! breathe to-day heroic breath!
Bring a dilated form, an eye more bright!
Gaze upward from those awful heights of faith,
And in diviner air thy soul delight!
Glow with thy hero through each famous fight!
Pray with thy sovereign on his dying bed!
Drink in the glory of thy Man of Might,
That through the world his flaming footsteps led,
And left on his last hours a light all hallowëd.
Bring a dilated form, an eye more bright!
Gaze upward from those awful heights of faith,
And in diviner air thy soul delight!
Glow with thy hero through each famous fight!
Pray with thy sovereign on his dying bed!
Drink in the glory of thy Man of Might,
That through the world his flaming footsteps led,
And left on his last hours a light all hallowëd.
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Tell how thy Strongest was by prayer made strong,
How mighty Faith thy Lordliest lifted high!
Sing how she bore her valiant son along,
Lent him her awful arm, her burning eye,
And clothëd him all o'er in victory!
Sing how around a Seeker of the Lord
More glorious gleamed thy robe of majesty;
How from his mouth more mighty went thy word,
And how in his strong hand more awful flashed thy sword!
How mighty Faith thy Lordliest lifted high!
Sing how she bore her valiant son along,
Lent him her awful arm, her burning eye,
And clothëd him all o'er in victory!
Sing how around a Seeker of the Lord
More glorious gleamed thy robe of majesty;
How from his mouth more mighty went thy word,
And how in his strong hand more awful flashed thy sword!
O air divine his panting soul that fed!
O quiet home wherein he walked with God!
O smile of Heaven that sweetly lightenëd
His burdened heart! O Faith that bright abode
With his calm years, that sent his soul abroad
To rescue and uplift the Father Land!
With her the unmarked paths of life he trod:
Amidst the fight she stood at his right hand,
Girt on that awful sword, and swelled that sacred band.
O quiet home wherein he walked with God!
O smile of Heaven that sweetly lightenëd
His burdened heart! O Faith that bright abode
With his calm years, that sent his soul abroad
To rescue and uplift the Father Land!
With her the unmarked paths of life he trod:
Amidst the fight she stood at his right hand,
Girt on that awful sword, and swelled that sacred band.
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O saintly host around him gatherëd,
Army of priests and kings! O men of might,
Whose like no land hath borne, no chief hath led,
Who ne'er waxed faint in prayer, nor weak in fight!
Yield, hireling warriors all! Priests robed in white,
Yearn for the solemn, sacred flame that burned
In those high-placëd hearts! Strange visions bright
Broke glorious on those earnest eyes upturned,
And for their Heavenly King those panting warriors yearned.
Army of priests and kings! O men of might,
Whose like no land hath borne, no chief hath led,
Who ne'er waxed faint in prayer, nor weak in fight!
Yield, hireling warriors all! Priests robed in white,
Yearn for the solemn, sacred flame that burned
In those high-placëd hearts! Strange visions bright
Broke glorious on those earnest eyes upturned,
And for their Heavenly King those panting warriors yearned.
O awful camp where prayerful silence reigned,
Or of discourse divine the murmur rose!
O warrior saints who meetly entertained
Descending angels, or onrushing foes!
Brave Cavaliers, no more these souls oppose!
With their more mightily descendëd flame
Your high-born fire may ne'er victorious close.
Ye fled before the saints in fear and shame
While louder o'er each field rang Oliver's great name.
Or of discourse divine the murmur rose!
O warrior saints who meetly entertained
Descending angels, or onrushing foes!
Brave Cavaliers, no more these souls oppose!
With their more mightily descendëd flame
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Ye fled before the saints in fear and shame
While louder o'er each field rang Oliver's great name.
Tell, England! how unto thy sovereign place
Those wondrous years thy sovereign soul upbore!
Sing how he breathed his glory o'er thy face,
And set thee high the amazëd world before!
Tell how he yearnëd God's own light to pour
Upon that trembling, shrinking soul of thine,—
To sanctify the fulness of thy store,
To make the fulness of thy strength divine,
And lead thy people forth before the Lord to shine!
Those wondrous years thy sovereign soul upbore!
Sing how he breathed his glory o'er thy face,
And set thee high the amazëd world before!
Tell how he yearnëd God's own light to pour
Upon that trembling, shrinking soul of thine,—
To sanctify the fulness of thy store,
To make the fulness of thy strength divine,
And lead thy people forth before the Lord to shine!
O England! gather up the garments bright
Wherein thy mighty lover bade thee beam!
The lamp his dying hand let fall relight,
And win from it no quivering, fleeting gleam!
Yet round thee may the Lord's own glory stream!
Yet in diviner majesty appear!
Yet lend thy lover's more than golden dream
Fulfilment sweet, and let the solemn cheer
Shed from his dying lips, fall full upon thine ear!
Wherein thy mighty lover bade thee beam!
The lamp his dying hand let fall relight,
And win from it no quivering, fleeting gleam!
Yet round thee may the Lord's own glory stream!
Yet in diviner majesty appear!
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Fulfilment sweet, and let the solemn cheer
Shed from his dying lips, fall full upon thine ear!
“Yet with Thy people wilt thou be.” Yea, Lord!
Nations may droop and dwindle; souls of light
May leave their glory dim, and undeplored
Sink down upon their shields Thy men of might;
Yet will Thine awful arm maintain the fight,
Yet will Thy glory make Thy people fair:
Yet shall Thine England wax divinely bright,
And bathe her spirit in the quickening air
Where soared her sovereign soul, her awful Oliver!
Nations may droop and dwindle; souls of light
May leave their glory dim, and undeplored
Sink down upon their shields Thy men of might;
Yet will Thine awful arm maintain the fight,
Yet will Thy glory make Thy people fair:
Yet shall Thine England wax divinely bright,
And bathe her spirit in the quickening air
Where soared her sovereign soul, her awful Oliver!
As a member of a sect and the leader of a party, Cromwell no longer concerns us; but as an earnest believer and a great ruler, as a transcendent Englishman and an intense Protestant, he remains for ever memorable and exemplary, worthy of imitation by wise statesmen, worthy of commemoration by all good Englishmen and Protestants—a commemoration which will especially befit Friday, September 3, 1858, the two hundredth anniversary even to the day of the week, of the Protector's death.
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