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

Some hearts lie wither'd in their transient spring
Long ere the yellow leaf of change began;
Seldom to them may human summer bring
A beaming welcome from the soul of man.

Cinctured as by a preternatural spell,
Languid their pulse of low dejection beats;
Yet none who mark their smile-clad face, could tell
How dark the mood which back from man retreats!

And what, though circumstance may seem
To gladden life with fortune's envied glow,
Or on their brow some bright delusion beam,
Hiding the haunted gloom that reigns below,—

They bear a burden language could not speak,
They feel depression too profound for tears,
And blush to fancy a betrayful cheek
Should wear the paleness of their inward fears.

Yet, say not such sad martyrs of the mind
Are fever'd by ambition's vulgar fret;
Nor think they loathe the love of human kind,
Or hate warm hours when echoing souls are met.

But in them dwells the hush'd and voiceless thought,
How all which reigns without, or rules within,
With grave-like hollowness is ever fraught,
Or, canker'd through with selfishness and sin.

And oft the bitterness of secret pride
Rankles beneath the play of baffled will,
While Feeling, wounded by some fate denied,
Bleeds at the root, though all without look still.

And moods they cherish, passionate as deep,
And wing'd desires that eagle-like would soar,
Which never waken from their wordless sleep,
But prey upon the spirit more and more.

And when quick minds, electrically strung
As though each chord of feeling moved on fire,
Some pang would tell,—how oft the fearful tongue
Has felt each accent on the lip expire!

And thus there is a loneliness of heart,
In all deep souls a never-enter'd shrine,
Where neither love nor friendship takes a part,
Which no eyes witness, but, Jehovah! Thine.

But shall we mourn, that each is circled round
With veiling mystery from the ken of man?
That waters deep within the soul abound
No word has fathom'd, and no wisdom can?

No, rather let such merciful disguise
Move the just thinker unto grateful prayer;
For who could live beneath terrestrial eyes,
If such could witness all secreted there!

And if no mantle by our God were thrown
Round fallen souls, to hide man's world within,
How should we hate, what now we love to own,
And cry for darkness to conceal our sin!

None are so chaste, unselfish, and sincere,
As not to feel the taint of Adam's fall;
So, heaven in mercy hides that inmost sphere
Where each dreads each, and all would censure all.

Yet beats One Heart all other hearts above,
Whose sympathy no human errors tire,
E'en Thine, pure Lord of uncreated love,
Incarnate Semblance of The heavenly Sire!

There, may we prove deep tenderness divine,
And yet, so human that it wept and sigh'd;
And when to coldness burden'd hearts incline,
Haste we to Him, who loved us till He died.

There is no self in that almighty Heart,
No changing motion in the casual will,
For Thou, Lord Christ! celestial mercy art,
And though we shun Thee, Thou art gracious still.

O balmy thought! which, like nocturnal dews
Whose silver freshness stars the herbless plain,
When worse than midnight shades our mental views
Recalls Emmanuel to the mind again.

Others may gaze with half-averted eyes,
Coldly may spurn, or scan the woe we feel,
But o'er His heart are breathed our inward sighs,
And through His breast our veil'd emotions steal.

Nor can one shade of sorrow clothe the cheek,
Nor tear-drop from the spirit-fountain roll,
But He interprets what no tongue can speak,
And reads the thinking volume of our soul.

Here boast the saints, what no bright seraph can,—
That they have sympathy upon the Throne;
Christ loves the Angel, but he feels for man,
Whose very nature hath become his Own.

No hearts beat echoless, if they believe
A more than Brother in yon heavens is theirs,
Who loves them most when all alone they grieve,
And with His incense can perfume their prayers.

His love is greater than our heart, and knows
What secret burden loads the inward sigh;
And wordless pangs to Him are open woes,
Clear as the glories which emblaze the sky.

Dear Lord! be ever thus our Friend divine,
Our Anchor sure while rocking tempests roli,
And when departing into hands like Thine,
Relume Thy promise, and receive the Soul.