The Poetical Works of Robert Montgomery :: :: University of Virginia Library

So felt the man, whom Superstition fear'd,
And Satan ever with a savage watch
Haunted, and down to his own hell desired
By dark temptation of the soul, to bring.
And hence to him, thus tempted, tried, and torn,
No mere abstraction, impotent as vain;
No vile creation of monastic gloom
The arch-Fiend was; nor, to his hell confined:
But here, on earth, in dark unrest employ'd,
And round the axis of infernal guile
Revolving ceaselessly his cruel plans,
Luther beheld him; such as God asserts,
By will, and intellect, and power endow'd,
In living personality array'd
Of being actual; Lord of souls undone,
Maker of death, and monarch of despair;
Who would the universe to cinders blast,
Undo redemption, all our mercies blight,
And hear a jubilee in Earth's last groan!

And must we, to some lacerating dream
Such agonies as rent th' undreading heart
Of Luther, in our sceptic age refer?
Was it with Phantoms of a brain diseased,
Or Actions, out of gloomy thought evoked
Fanatical and false, that saints of old
Contended? Or, by dismal clouds o'erveil'd,
Did Prophets only with the air contend?
Were brave Apostles, when their spirits bled,
By Satans of the mind alone convulsed?
Or, did the God-man, in His day of flesh
Tempted like men, no thrilling combat face,
But simply, by internal vision tried,
Fight with black Nothing in the form of fiend?
Let dread Gethsemane to this reply!
There, while the bloody sweat from Christ was wrung,
As round Him, in His human weakness, rush'd
With eyes which hunger'd on his pangs to feed
And wings that flutter'd with a fiendish joy,
The Hosts of darkness,—let the sceptic ask
If that be air, which made Emmanuel shake!

They mock the Devil who obey him most:
But hearts made simple by a power divine,
Believe the combat, and partake it too.
The Friend of sinners was the Foe of sin,
And therefore, saints with Satan must contend
As did their Captain for His cross and crown.
Such was the creed our Saxon hero held.
Yes! that brave Spirit, who in public stood
And calmly watch'd the papal furnace heat,
Prepared to battle with its sevenfold fires,—
Prostrate and pale, with agonising tears
Bound in the blackness of temptation's night
Behold him, like a reed of sorrow, now!
And they, whose wisdom faith and fear produce,
Touch'd by no common awe, will come to view
A martyrdom, beyond what fire inflicts
In the torn depths of Luther's tortured breast
When Satan fell'd him; and the shades of Hell
Frown'd on his heart their horrible dismay!

Oh! there seemed moments when th' Almighty frown'd,
When Sinai over Calvary hung its cloud
Till legal thunders struck the Gospel dumb,
And Jesu vanish'd into viewless air!

240

Then, pardon'd sin unpardon'd aspect took;
While conscience like a scowling demon lour'd
Full on the past: and e'en the Bible lost
Its music; till the melody of truth
Turn'd to strange discord, where no tones of grace
Or God were found! Then, fiend on fiend began
Between the Saviour and his soul to rush,
In raging darkness; while at times he shook
In fancy o'er the flaming deep of Hell,
And hover'd, as by grasping demons held.

But he, who bled beneath satanic blows,
Hereafter kiss'd the rod his heart endured
And found it gilded with a Father's smile.
For need there was, of educating woes
To pierce him to the centre, till he pray'd,
And the great Luther grew a little child
Safe in the hands of his almighty Sire.
Since much of darkness in his light remain'd;
And much terrene with his celestial mix'd;
And much of Adam with his faith there blent,—
Oh, what but Wisdom, in divinest force,
Knew how to build a perill'd Luther up?
Hence, not a pang his inner being tore
Which was not needed, and by Heaven o'er-ruled
To tame that temper, whose volcanic fires
So often rent him with outbursting rage.
Luther was great, and God would keep him so,
By proving in Himself all greatness lay,
And there alone the Reformation stood.