The Baptistery, or the way of eternal life :: :: University of Virginia Library

Born from the deep of the Baptismal flood
She sprung, with wings half pois'd to fly to Heaven,
Heavenward her palm she pointed; as she stood
A warlike attitude to her was given,
And round her as she rose the clouds were riven;
A Cross her helm, a Cross her halbert strong:
She seem'd as one come from the clouds of even,
Who did on earth to higher worlds belong,
As to the waves she sung her clear Baptismal song.

Lift up thy voice, thou mighty Main,
The thunder of thy song,
Thou utterest thy glorious strain
A thousand years along.
Free Ocean, lift thy voice again,—
While mantling round thee thy blue robe,
Thou seem'st to live, and to rejoice,

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And symbol round the peopled globe
Th' Almighty's awful voice .

Stretch forth thine arms,—thy bright blue arms,—
The big broad world around,
And shake thy locks,—thy bright blue locks,—
And let thy trumpet sound!
Go forth, ye waves, exulting bound,
Go forth from shore to shore!
He laughs along and spreads alarms;
From pole to pole his thundering sides he rocks;
With wild tumultuous roar,
He roves to unseen worlds afar,
And bears his watery war.

The Heavens do in thy bosom sleep,
In their immensity,
With hosts that range th' ethereal deep,
Dark-bosom'd, glorious Sea!
And there the Moon in deeps of light
Doth make herself a glorious place,
While, through the mantle of the night,
Glass'd in thy watery world the Heavens behold their face.

Come, let me listen unto thee,
And read thy dark-writ brow,
Great Ocean! ah, I know thee now,
Mysterious, awful Sea!
Sign of what is, and what shall be,
Birthplace of things that cannot die!

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My childhood lov'd thy vocal shore,
With a mysterious fear,
And watch'd thy living waves expiring there,
With rippling froth and gentle roar,
And now I haunt thy sides with awful fond regret
I see thy watery hall,
And gaze, and gazing yet
I feel a something gone I would in vain recall.

Great sign of our Baptismal birth,
With twice ten thousand hands
Embracing the else failing earth,
As with sweet swaddling bands;
O mighty storehouse, awful Sea,
Th' Almighty's footsteps are in thee,
When He doth walk abroad,
His ways where life and healing dwell,
By human eye untraceable!
In thee there lies the hidden road
To the celestial towers,
Whose gates are pearl of living blaze,
And agate-pav'd her bowers,
Wherein the white-cloth'd pilgrim strays,
Led on to those immortal walls by the soft-footed Hours.

Lift up thy voice, dread watery wild,
I know thy sounds divine,
Now thy deep voice I understand,
That speaks from land to land,
Thou art the great Baptismal sign,
Life-giving, pure, profound.
Deep in thy halls with waters pil'd
Angelic steps abound:

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The Sky, with its star-peopled space,
Doth gaze enamour'd on thy face,
And wheresoe'er thy glass is found,
In this dark-corner'd earth by sin defil'd,
Sleeps calmly in thy lov'd embrace,
Reliev'd and reconcil'd.

Spread forth thy bosom, awful Sea!
Thou in Jehovah's house of old
Wast on the pillar'd Twelve unroll'd ,
Dread emblem of great majesty.
And in His living Church on earth
Doth thy vast laver stand.
Great fountain of Baptismal birth
For children born for th' eternal land.
But in that House where Angel-hosts adore,
That Sea shall be no more ,
For none there die, and none are born,
No longer from the sea doth rise the purple morn.

Of mighty floods majestic seat
In arching blue uprear'd;
On thy abyss the Paraclete
Erst dove-like deign'd to brood,
Ere sun or stars had yet appear'd
To light that solitude,
The formless void profound;
Until the Earth, with hill and valley crown'd,
From out thy bosom rose,
And winding round her came to view
Thy beauteous arch of blue;
There Morn's first waking from repose,

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And Evening on her starry throne,
Crown'd with her golden sunset shone,
Glass'd in the lucid folds of thy transparent zone.

Deep walking in thy watery caves
The Moon doth bright appear;
Amid the thunder of thy waves
She lifts her glittering spear;
When from her palace gates, through some bright cloud,
Emerges forth her presence proud,
The emerald and the chrysoprase,
Responsive own the blaze;
And finny troops flash in the burnish'd rays,
While her soft shadow roves at ease
Her watery palaces;
Thus still and soft the Church doth walk below
In the Baptismal seas,
While nought her presence soils, more white than virgin snow.

Great Laver of Baptismal birth,
How didst thou in thy strength
Rejoice to know thy Lord on earth,
And His still Voice to hear along thy breadth and length!
Then thou, in thy dark mood so wild,
E'en like a wayward child,
Didst hear thy Maker's voice, and sweet and mild
All calmly at His feet didst lie;
And e'en in thy tumultuous wrath
Didst make for Him a marble path;
While in their house of wood His chosen fear'd to die.

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Strong flowing Main, that grow'st not old,
While all things else decay,
In youthful buoyance fresh and bold
As on thy natal day,
Thou roll'st thy watery hosts along,
And utterest thy song;
Thou keepest fresh the verdant world,
Which else would fade in her polluted ways,
In turbulence around her hurl'd,
Or soft melodious praise.

Ye watery worlds that range aloof,
Above this earthly globe,
And form your roving bands on Heaven's bright roof,
Where God hath His pavilion made ,
And in your deeps His pillars laid,
Throwing around Him your dark-flowing robe,
In you He drops fresh life below,
In you He sets His wondrous bow!
And here below the waters move,
Responsive to some spell above:
O dread mysterious awful power,
Quickening the new-born world with thy Baptismal shower!

Ye springs and fountains, stream and lake,
That fill our world below,
And bear your warrant forth to go,
A garden here on this bad world to make,
And thirst of life to slake:
Ye from the secret sea of Love,

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Do spring amid the wilderness,
In varied forms ye move,
Mountain and vale with beauty dress,
And all things living bless.

Flow on, flow on, thou mighty Main,
And send thy thousand rills,
Through all thy secret stores which strain
From the dark-treasur'd hills,
And wheresoe'er thy waters flow,
The gladdening banks between,
The trees in varied order seen,
Trees of the Lord stand fresh and green
In God's own Paradise below .

Ye wells and waters, o'er which broods
The Dove of sacred lore,
Refreshing erst those Syrian solitudes,
While Faith still look'd before!
She now in you beholds mysterious things,
And o'er you hangs on thoughtful wings.
Ye hallow'd wells, where Abraham walk'd,
Where Patriarchs old their blessings won,
Where Jacob with his chosen talk'd,
Bequeath'd from son to son!
Till on your sacred site a greater One
Sat down at eve to rest;
'Twas He who was in Baptism manifest,
Who from His bleeding side the wave,
And living waters gave.

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And thou, of all God's streams most dread and sweet,
Great Jordan, who with hallow'd feet
Down Israel's mountains didst descend,
From skies that earthward bow and bend;
From thee the twelve great Stones are seen,
When Israel pass'd the floods between:
In thee the Syrian cleansing found;
From thee the Galilean lake
Spreads forth her watery bound;
O stream most blest for His dear sake
Who touch'd thy sacred wave, and hallow'd all thy ground.

The voice of the Lord is on the waters—lo, it soundeth;
He only doeth wonder:
The voice of the Lord is on the waters—it aboundeth,
Above, around, and under,
Proclaiming the Belov'd,—the Son Belov'd proclaiming
In living thunder;
And Heaven, and Earth, and Sea, are witness to Thy naming,
The waters saw Thee, and were troubled,
And through the watery deeps the living lightnings spring;
Deep calls to deep in echoing sounds redoubled;
Go tell it forth, the Lord is King!
The Lord sits o'er the waterfloods,
And o'er the watery multitudes
His Spirit broods.

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Flow forth, meek Jordan, to the sea,
Henceforth the pure salt main
Is hallow'd in its founts by thee,
And all its streams do virtue gain.
The Temple now unfolds her gates,
And healing waves thence issue forth;
And East and West and South and North
The hallow'd stream awaits.

Sea of Tiberias, watery bed,
Lay down thy rippling billow,
I fain would lay my weary head
Upon thy gentle pillow!
Bosom of waters with fair mountains crown'd,
To thee sweet memories are given,
Thou art, if such on earth be found,
A mirror meet for Heaven!
In those blest waters then
Full oft those holy Fishermen,
Watching their nets in that deep quiet scene,
Beheld the stars in the blue seas serene,
And prais'd their Lord on high.
Little they deem'd what then was nigh,
That those bright stars of lustre so divine
Were emblems of that company.
Which should hereafter rise and shine
In the Baptismal sea.

Ye watery clouds that stray above,
Ye watery streams below,
Still wheresoe'er ye stand or move
Ye meet us as we go;—
Your sinuous paths still wending,

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Upon our ways attending,
Or wings ye take and o'er our heads are flying,
Or at our feet are lying,
Stretching your silver length along.
Ye showers, ye streams, ye lakes, and seas,
Ye put on every shape to meet us on our way,
To cheer, sustain, to soothe, to please:
And when your Heaven-replenish'd urn is dry,
All things around fade and decay,
And we too pine and die.

Flow forth, ye showers, ye blissful showers,
Long parch'd hath been the land;
In sultry noon where wither'd Carmel towers,
Elijah is at hand!
He lean'd his head full low,
His head in prayer did bow,
His head between his knees.
What is there now beyond the distant seas?
Methinks I hear afar
The footsteps of the storm .
Now go, and yoke the harness'd car,
And hasten to the town;
For o'er the distant main
There is a cloud, as if a form
Were leaning with a pitcher down,
And drawing up the rain.

Spring forth from out thy mountain nest,
Thou bright and bounding billow!
Where Moses stands beside the rock,
And tented tribes through all the valley flock,

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With crystal-sounding step, and sparkling breast
I hear thee down the rocky stair descending!
No green banks mark thee down the strand,
No tree, nor ranks of willow,
Are on thy winding course attending!
But famish'd beasts and thirsty men
Around thee bend, and stand,
With gaping mouth and leaning hand,
All hastening, bending, drooping, kneeling,
By thee restor'd to life again.
Meanwhile thy watery footsteps wend,
Choose their new path, spontaneous bend,
In living channels stealing,
And with their freshening song their hidden path revealing.

Ye rains on high that dwell,
Ye waters that around our home
Do ripple, fall, or swell,
And all about us gently range
With beauteous interchange,
Ye shadow forth the stores that come
From our Baptismal well,
And all around our being roam
In blessings numberless and strange.
The Heaven-built City's shadow sleeps
Within your glassy deeps,
With all her golden-pillar'd towers,
And gliding forms that walk in amaranthine bowers.

Flow on, flow on, ye glistening streams,
I listen, and I gaze,

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But I have wander'd in my dreams
To Childhood's peaceful days.
While down some stony stair advancing
Your rippling waves are glancing;
Or like a silver sea are spread,
Where high-wall'd Cities see their tower-encircled head;
Or through the green elm-studded vale
Is seen to move the whitening sail,
A swelling sheet the trees between
In some Autumnal quiet scene;
Or summer Eve is through her portals going,
And in your waters glowing,
Her fairest parting hues on your bright waves bestowing.

Flow on, flow on, old Ocean's daughters,
In every shape and form that ye are wrought,
I love you, happy waters!
Whether ye lead me back in thought
To Boyhood's purer days,
Or your refreshing sounds are brought
'Mid the polluted ways
Of cities, towers, and men.
O happy waters, hail to you again!
I know not how upon the theme I linger,
In vain I close the strain,
I strike the chords, and still again,
Thought runs on thought beneath the moving finger,
I close, and yet again upon the theme I linger.

Why are ye link'd with all my deepest musings,
And summon up the past,

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Yet in regrets which evermore must last,
Your freshness new infusing?
Types of Baptismal blessings ever winding,
Ye my sad weary ways at every turn are finding,
With sounds as of celestial dew,
Or streams that come to view!
Bear me, great flowing fountains, bear me still
Upon your heaving breast;
Bear me yet onward to th' eternal hill
Where I at length may rest!
Still would I close, my tongue in closing falters,
O bear me on your flowing breast, ye happy, happy waters!

Ezek. xliii. 2: Rev. i. 15; xiv. 2; xix. 6.

1 Kings vii. 23, 25.

Rev. xxi. 1.

Psalm xviii. 11.

Psalm i.; civ. 16.

φωνη των ποδων του υετου. 1 Kings xviii. 41. Septuag.