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

“It is not good for man to be alone,”
Thus spake the Godhead from his viewless Throne;
And yet, if ever Soul might be
In solitude divinely free,
'Twas when emotion through the young earth ran,
As the first sunbeam fell on perfect man.

Though all without was beautiful and bright,
And grace within made intellectual light,
While sinless heart and loyal will
Harmoniously did each fulfil
The law of love, by wisdom round them thrown,—
It seem'd not good that man should be alone.

It is not “good!” for That most awful Three
Whose name is Love, whose shrine, Eternity,
In plural bliss for aye commune;
Their Godhead is a blest Triune,
Eternal One in Three, and Three in One,
Unfathom'd, Infinite, and Unbegun!

But erring, sinful, branded as we are,
How little each another's heart can share!
How much within us, none can know;
What feelings Words might blush to show,
Hid from the fondest eye which ever gazed
Under the shroud confiding friendship raised!

And tones are felt of individual heart
We cannot, if we would, by breath impart,—
So deep, so delicate they glide
Under the soul's mysterious tide;
Blent with those shifting thoughts that form and die,
Too faint for words, too subtle for a sigh.

And who has not, in those ideal hours
When Nature marshals her majestic powers
Which mountain, sky and ocean yield,
Tempests awake, or torrents wield,—
Within him felt, what speech has not convey'd,
And soft tears only to the sense display'd?

Or, when a sun-burst of entrancing good
Gladdens our being into gratitude,
And thoughts emotionally bright
Leap in the heart like waves of light,
How have our quiv'ring lips refused to speak
What flush'd its meaning through our raptured cheek!

And often too, when sorrow's milder gloom
Shades the still bosom into memory's tomb,
When buried friends of boyish days
Deep yearnings in our spirit raise,
How vain the effort to unwind the zone
Which girds the heart, and keeps it all alone!

And thou, Religion!—who can half unfold
The spells divine thy deeper graces hold?
Before mute conscience lies a screen
That hides from human words, I ween,
Those loving secrets and those solemn fears
Which God interprets through our spirits' tears.

And thus, a sense there is, in which alone
We must be,—for the soul cannot be shown;
And hence, all life is loneliness;
Our highest moods are echoless;
Single we live, in solitude we die,
For each heart only can itself descry.

But still, what self-born dangers e'er infest
The man, who cloisters in monastic breast
Feelings and hopes, which God intends
As living cords, to fasten friends
In that sweet bond of amity and love
Form'd by the angels, when they sing above!

Sternly alone, forbid us, Lord! to be;
Warm our chill minds, and centre them on Thee;
Bought by one price, Thy precious Blood!
And in Thy church, a brotherhood,
With God's elected may we ever meet
In mystic oneness at Thy mercy-seat.

For what, though morbid Sentiment may dream
That nought so like a bosom'd heaven can seem,
That man himself from man should hide,
And soul by soul be undescried,—
The heart collapses into coldness, when
We nurse no feeling for our fellow-men.

Social in essence is the christian's God;
Social in life, the scene our Saviour trod;
And selfish chains contract the mind,
That should encircle human kind,
Reflecting Him, who veils His awful throne,
And dwells in Glory that is not alone.