Classic Poem

LXI.

Then rising all, the minister to heaven,
In suppliant mood, lifts up his hands on high,
Rich with the light six thousand years have given,
The fires of genius brighten in his eye:
But on his brow sits meek humility,
With ardent love and awful reverence join'd,
In sight of Him who, bending from the sky,
Regards the contrite heart with aspect kind,
But spurns, with loathing deep, the self-elated mind.

LXII.

With him their souls in adoration rise,
With him their deep contrition they express
For countless follies, grave iniquities,
Abused mercy, and neglected grace;
For churlish discontent and thanklessness
Beneath the joy which every day renews;
For obstinate and heartless pride of face,
Through which th' obedient shoulder they refuse,
Though law, and light, and love have left them no excuse.

LXIII.

But while the power and prevalence of sin,
With tears of genuine sorrow they bemoan,
They think of Him their advocate, within
The highest heaven, a priest upon his throne,
Which by obedience to the death he won,
With power o'er all existences conjoin'd,
Eternal life to give to every one,
Who, in the purpose of th' All-seeing Mind,
For that vocation high was to his care consign'd.

LXIV.

And now, that He would graciously shed down
His Spirit on their souls, they humbly plead,
That so the word from faith to faith made known,
May prove to them the true life-giving bread;
That, the Great Shepherd, he would stand and feed
This day in all the majesty of God,
Administering, to all who sow, the seed,
Breathing of grace the fructifying cloud,
And waking warm to blow the south wind soft abroad.

LXV.

And as He stills the forest-rending wind,
Of seas, and all their waves the wild uproar,
So speak conviction to the sinner's mind,
And bid corruption rage and rule no more:
And on the soul, in grief afflicted sore,
Temptation toss'd, in darkness all forlorn,
The healing balm of consolation pour,
While rises bright, his pathway to adorn,
Heaven-breathing Hope, array'd in all the hues of morn.

LXVI.

Prayer ended — now the Scripture page is read
And brief expounded to the simple hind,
How, by the serpent's guileful speech betray'd,
Our first grand parents from the truth declined,
By one rash act themselves, yea all their kind,
To sorrow, toil, and death delivering o'er, —
Hence wide o'er earth diffused the hateful mind, —
Hence groans the forest track'd with living gore,
And war with baleful breath has blasted every shore.

LXVII.

Hence wrathful ruin sweeps the troubled sky,
Or slumbers in the congregating clouds,
Or in the depths of earth, from every eye
Conceal'd, the fell resolve in silence broods
In cheerless gloom the face of day she shrouds,
Her breath is thunder, or with frost burns frore,
Beneath her feet the trembling earth explodes
With direful crash, prelusive to the hour
When wrapt in flame the world shall sink beneath her power.

LXVIII.

The love of God this painful theme relieves, —
A love which doth all knowledge far transcend,
Which yet the babe in knowledge, who believes,
In some degree is taught to comprehend:
Whence came the Lowly One, the poor man's friend,
And from his lips snatch'd wrath's red cup of gall,
Which drinking, he had labour'd without end,
In direful den shut up stern justice' thrall,
Debarr'd the light of hope or soothing mercy's call.

LXIX.

But He, though frowning Death stood interposed,
At one full draught the dregs unshrinking wrung,
While round him fierce, in fiery phalanx closed,
Princedoms and powers, rulers of darkness strong;
Who saw him laid the long lost dead among,
And number'd him with malefactors vile,
Presuming to have marr'd for aye the song,
Through life that soothed the weary mourner's toil,
And even in death's dread hour gave him the victor's smile.

LXX.

Presumption vain — although the insatiate tomb
Was closed upon him with the seal of power,
And men of war, the invincibles of Rome,
Set sentinels to make his prison sure;
God's angel, as it came the appointed hour,
Another watcher, clothed in flame, descends,
Rolls back, and sits upon the huge stone door; —
Blood-curdling fear each soldier's breath suspends,
While earth's foundations deep the heaving earthquake rends.

LXXI.

And Jesus, self-reviving, takes again
That life for man he in his love laid down,
Up with him, too, he brings a glorious train,
First fruits to gem his mediatorial crown:
And trophies of eternal victory, won
On that dark shore wash'd by oblivion's wave,
Sure pledges that he holds them for his own,
The keys of death and of the dismal grave,
Omnipotent, alike or to condemn or save.

LXXII.

Now, having died once, he dies no more,
But sits a Priest and King upon his throne;
The head of principality and power
Throughout all worlds supreme, th' Anointed One.
Because he made himself man's feeble son,
Heir to his grief, his penury, and pain,
He, by the high decree, and he alone,
With office power is vested, to sustain
Wrath's adamantine bars, and mercy's golden chain.

LXXIII.

In faith of this, sublime the Sabbath song
The ancient church raised to the Righteous One,
Which now far lands and distant isles prolong,
And ever shall, till time's last sands are run
And, when on earth the work of God is done,
And tears, and sighs, with sin have fled away;
The same glad notes shall rise before the throne,
No voice discordant, and no heart astray,
Still new, and still the same, through glory's endless day.

LXXIV.

Stranger to this consolatory theme,
Beware the atheist's hiss, the sceptic's sneer;
Here plain to all, as with a sunbright beam,
A future judgment-day is written clear.
Yes! as he went, again he shall appear,
With clouds and darkness round about his throne;
His voice shall yet resound in every ear
That lives, or e'er hath lived the earth upon,
To him each knee shall bow, him every tongue shall own.

LXXV.

Once, deem'd the meanest of the mean, he stood
At Caiaphas' and Herod's partial bar;
Was spit on by a base and brutal crowd,
And set at nought by ruffian men of war.
Nor did that truckling Roman, Pilate, dare,
Though awe-struck with his spotless innocence,
Aught better for his safety to prepare,
Than rods and scourging, on the vile pretence,
In sordid minds, by wrong, t' awaken moral sense.

LXXVI.

Then he was in the greatness of his strength,
Humiliation's dreary vale within,
Wrath's ample winepress treading out at length,
Beneath the burden of his people's sin
Now he is come in majesty to win
The full reward of all his travail sore,
A new career of glory to begin —
Glory with God the Father, kept in store
Unseen, yea, unconceived in earth or heaven before.

LXXVII.

Now it shines out, that glory all his own
Ere time his silent course began to run —
That glory to the world's wise ones unknown,
Th' eternal glory of th' Eternal Son.
Nor comes he glorious as the Son alone,
With that of the Eternal Father seal'd,
But glorious as the Economic One,
By whom in every age have been reveal'd
The counsels high of Heaven, and in him all fulfill'd.

LXXVIII.

Think, thou his grace who darest to despise,
How thou wilt meet him on this day of ire,
When conscience with demoniac strength shall rise
To dash thy soul with accusations dire.
Creation burns immense, one sea of fire,
Worlds — suns, and stars, and systems are no more
Where wilt thou fly? how will thy dreams expire,
Cast out thy boundless folly to deplore,
Where death's dark waters lave despair's still darker shore.

LXXIX.

For thee in vain new heavens and earth arise,
The abodes of peace, of love, and holiness;
This found no favour in thy blinded eyes,
And these of course thou never canst possess.
Ah! yet bethink thee, while with peaceful voice
He stands, th' atoning High Priest, full in view;
His precious blood, his sanctifying grace
Proffering to all, with admonition due,
To faith, repentance, love, and prompt obedience new.

LXXX.

The preacher thus, with that impressive air
Subjects so awfully sublime require,
Adjures his audience all with many a tear,
To 'scape the vengeance of eternal fire;
To rest on God, who is the warm desire
Of those that fear him, faithful to fulfil:
Who oft to rapture tunes the mourner's lyre,
Even when the rain of sorrow, falling chill,
Hath drench'd the flowers of hope, that bloom on Faith's green hill.