The Poetical Works of Robert Montgomery Collected and Revised by the Author |
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 | The Poetical Works of Robert Montgomery |  |
STARRY DREAMS.
“Tell the stars if thou be able to number them.”—Gen. xv. 5.
“He telleth the number of the stars:
he calleth them all by their names.”—Ps. cxlvii. 4.
“We have seen his Star in the East.”—Matt. ii. 2.
Their names and numbers who can tell,
Yon quiv'ring gems of mystic light!
That throb with such irradiant spell
And fascinate our dreaming sight;
Yon quiv'ring gems of mystic light!
That throb with such irradiant spell
And fascinate our dreaming sight;
So countless looks their burning throng
No finite thought their sum can hold;
For, like a secret, they belong
To One by numbers uncontroll'd.
No finite thought their sum can hold;
For, like a secret, they belong
To One by numbers uncontroll'd.
How beautiful their lustres are!
Whether on infant-eyes they gleam,
Which often, like some pensive star,
Glance moisten'd with a mournful beam:
Whether on infant-eyes they gleam,
Which often, like some pensive star,
Glance moisten'd with a mournful beam:
Or, when in elder life we gaze
On each faint pulse of throbbing fire,
Till feeling hearts reflect the rays
And mirror back what they inspire.
On each faint pulse of throbbing fire,
Till feeling hearts reflect the rays
And mirror back what they inspire.
So fair to each and all they shine,
Stars often seem responsive Eyes
That greet us from their calm divine,
And answer our ascending sighs.
Stars often seem responsive Eyes
That greet us from their calm divine,
And answer our ascending sighs.
Attracted out of earth and time
The starry vault of air we roam,
And dream the poetry sublime,
Which makes each orb a spirit's home:
The starry vault of air we roam,
And dream the poetry sublime,
Which makes each orb a spirit's home:
A home, perchance, where, bright and blest,
The loved, but not the lost, remain,
Whom there embower'd in blissful rest
Our souls may clasp in heaven again.
The loved, but not the lost, remain,
Whom there embower'd in blissful rest
Our souls may clasp in heaven again.
Ye dead! whose tombs are loving hearts,
Whose epitaphs, memorial tears,
Whose image from no scene departs,
But shades the colour of our years,
Whose epitaphs, memorial tears,
Whose image from no scene departs,
But shades the colour of our years,
Not seldom, when the noise of day
Beneath the trance of dewy night
Is hush'd, and meekly dies away
The last wan smile of waning light,
Beneath the trance of dewy night
Is hush'd, and meekly dies away
The last wan smile of waning light,
Lone martyrs of dejection steal
From the harsh scene of crowd and care,
Religion in the stars to feel
As though enshrined in glory there.
From the harsh scene of crowd and care,
Religion in the stars to feel
As though enshrined in glory there.
How eloquent that voiceless hour!
Holy, as if creation knelt,—
Or mute before her Maker's power
Thrill'd Earth some adoration felt.
Holy, as if creation knelt,—
Or mute before her Maker's power
Thrill'd Earth some adoration felt.
Yet, would that in primeval days
These orbs of speaking light had known
No worship which mere wonder pays,
And orient verse hath often shown;
These orbs of speaking light had known
No worship which mere wonder pays,
And orient verse hath often shown;
For oh! their beauty, radiance, power,
Which seem'd oracularly bright,
Such myst'ry wove at midnight hour
That gods they grew to heathen sight.
Which seem'd oracularly bright,
Such myst'ry wove at midnight hour
That gods they grew to heathen sight.
Yet not by us, in Christ renew'd,
Pure members of His Body made,
Are heaven's bright miracles so view'd,
Though dazzling be their spell display'd.
Pure members of His Body made,
Are heaven's bright miracles so view'd,
Though dazzling be their spell display'd.
We love them! for indeed they look
So placid, mournful, pale and mild,
That when we read Night's starry book,
We spell it, like a lisping child.
So placid, mournful, pale and mild,
That when we read Night's starry book,
We spell it, like a lisping child.
Like gleaming Apparitions sent,
They beckon man on high, to see
His home enspheres yon firmament,
That shines in starr'd eternity.
They beckon man on high, to see
His home enspheres yon firmament,
That shines in starr'd eternity.
And tears will often through the eyes
Distill the heart, and make us seem
As though we sail'd cerulean skies,
Unbodied in some astral dream!
Distill the heart, and make us seem
As though we sail'd cerulean skies,
Unbodied in some astral dream!
But more than sentiment and song
The host of heaven from hearts excite,
Who feel that to such orbs belong
Deep lustres which excel the light.
The host of heaven from hearts excite,
Who feel that to such orbs belong
Deep lustres which excel the light.
For, can we not pure incense bring
To Him, the bright and Morning Star?
Some anthems round His cradle sing,
Surpassing eastern magi far?
To Him, the bright and Morning Star?
Some anthems round His cradle sing,
Surpassing eastern magi far?
Though jewell'd mines we cannot give,
Not ours, but us, Emmanuel claims;
And if on Him by love we live,
His breastplate bears our chosen names.
Not ours, but us, Emmanuel claims;
And if on Him by love we live,
His breastplate bears our chosen names.
79
Be ours the incense of a soul,
Through faith and fellowship divine
Rising beyond where planets roll,—
And richer than Arabia's mine.
Through faith and fellowship divine
Rising beyond where planets roll,—
And richer than Arabia's mine.
True sacrifice is love alone:
And worship from unwav'ring Hearts,
To Him Who wields creation's throne
A throb of finite bliss imparts.
And worship from unwav'ring Hearts,
To Him Who wields creation's throne
A throb of finite bliss imparts.
Without it, vile are myrrh and gold,
And vain the swell of soaring word,—
For He who can our thought behold,
A loveless prayer has never heard.
And vain the swell of soaring word,—
For He who can our thought behold,
A loveless prayer has never heard.
So may the church to Christ present
Our body, spirit, soul, and all,
That truth and grace omnipotent
May us elected children call.
Our body, spirit, soul, and all,
That truth and grace omnipotent
May us elected children call.
Such worship will be hail'd on high
Where uncreated glories shine,
When heavenward soars the wafted sigh
Which meekly warbles, “Christ is mine.
Where uncreated glories shine,
When heavenward soars the wafted sigh
Which meekly warbles, “Christ is mine.
“In life and death, my Lord, Thou art,
Celestial Prophet, Priest, and King!
True incense is a grateful heart,
And this makes all my love can bring.”
Celestial Prophet, Priest, and King!
True incense is a grateful heart,
And this makes all my love can bring.”
| The Poetical Works of Robert Montgomery | |