The Course Of Time. Book Vi. Poem by Robert Pollok

Resume thy tone of wo, immortal harp!
The song of mirth is past; the Jubilee
Is ended; and the sun begins to fade.
Soon past: for happiness counts not the hours;
To her a thousand years seem as a day;
A day a thousand years to misery.
Satan is loose, and Violence is heard,
And Riot in the street, and Revelry
Intoxicate, and Murder, and Revenge.
Put on your armour now, ye righteous! put
The helmet of salvation on, and gird
Your loins about with truth; add righteousness,
And add the shield of faith; and take the sword
Of God: awake! and watch: the day is near;
Great day of God Almighty, and the Lamb.
The harvest of the earth is fully ripe:
Vengeance begins to tread the great wine-press
Of fierceness and of wrath; and Mercy pleads,
Mercy that pleaded long, she pleads no more.
Whence comes that darkness? whence those yells of wo?
What thunderings are these, that shake the world?
Why fall the lamps from heaven as blasted figs?
Why tremble righteous men? why angels pale?
Why is all fear? what has become of hope?
God comes! God in his car of vengeance comes!
Hark! louder on the blast, come hollow shrieks
Of dissolution; in the fitful scowl
Of night, near and more near, angels of death
Incessant flap their deadly wings, and roar
Thro' all the fevered air: the mountains rock;
The moon is sick; and all the stars of heaven
Burn feebly; oft and sudden gleams the fire,
Revealing awfully the brow of wrath.
The thunder, long and loud, utters his voice,
Responsive to the ocean's troubled growl.
Night comes, last night; the long dark, dark, dark night,
That has no morn beyond it, and no star.
No eye of man hath seen a night like this!
Heaven's trampled justice girds itself for fight;
Earth to thy knees, and cry for mercy! cry
With earnest heart; for thou art growing old
And hoary, unrepented, unforgiven:
And all thy glory mourns: the vintage mourns;
Bashan and Carmel mourn and weep: and mourn
Thou Lebanon! with all thy cedars mourn.
Sun! glorying in thy strength from age to age,
So long observant of thy hour, put on
Thy weeds of wo, and tell the moon to weep;
Utter thy grief at mid-day, morn, and even;
Tell all the nations, tell the clouds that sit
About the portals of the east and west,
And wanton with thy golden locks, to wait
Thee not to-morrow; for no morrow comes;
Tell men and women, tell the new-born child,
And every eye that sees, to come, and see
Thee set behind Eternity; for thou
Shalt go to bed to-night, and ne'er awake.
Stars! walking on the pavement of the sky;
Out-sentinels of heaven! watching the earth,
Cease dancing now: your lamps are growing dim;
Your graves are dug among the dismal clouds;
And angels are assembling round your bier.
Orion, mourn! and Mazzaroth, and thou,
Arcturus, mourn, with all thy northern sons.
Daughters of Pleiades! that nightly shed
Sweet influence: and thou, fairest of stars!
Eye of the morning, weep—and weep at eve;
Weep setting, now to rise no more, “and flame
On forehead of the dawn”—as sung the bard,
Great bard! who used on Earth a seraph's lyre,
Whose numbers wandered thro' eternity,
And gave sweet foretaste of the heavenly harps.
Minstrel of sorrow! native of the dark!
Shrub-loving Philomel! that wooed the Dews
At midnight from their starry beds, and charmed,
Held them around thy song till dawn awoke—
Sad bird! pour thro' the gloom thy weeping song,
Pour all thy dying melody of grief;
And with the turtle spread the wave of wo—
Spare not thy reed, for thou shalt sing no more.
Ye holy bards! if yet a holy bard
Remain, what chord shall serve you now? what harp!
What harp shall sing the dying sun asleep,
And mourn behind the funeral of the moon!
What harp of boundless, deep, exhaustless wo,
Shall utter forth the groanings of the damned!
And sing the obsequies of wicked souls!
And wail their plunge in the eternal fire!
Hold, hold your hands; hold angels; God laments,
And draws a cloud of mourning round his throne;
The Organ of eternity is mute;
And there is silence in the Heaven of heavens.
Daughters of beauty! choice of beings made!
Much praised, much blamed, much loved; but fairer far
Than aught beheld; than aught imagined else
Fairest; and dearer than all else most dear:
Light of the darksome wilderness! to Time
As stars to night—whose eyes were spells that held
The passenger forgetful of his way;
Whose steps were majesty; whose words were song;
Whose smiles were hope; whose actions, perfect grace;
Whose love the solace, glory, and delight
Of man, his boast, his riches, his renown:
When found, sufficient bliss; when lost, despair:
Stars of creation! images of love!
Break up the fountains of your tears; your tears,
More eloquent than learned tongue, or lyre
Of purest note; your sunny raiment stain;
Put dust upon your heads; lament and weep;
And utter all your ministrelsy of wo.
Go to, ye wicked, weep and howl; for all
That God hath written against you is at hand.
The cry of violence hath reached his ear;
Hell is prepared; and Justice whets his sword.
Weep all of every name: begin the wo,
Ye woods, and tell it to the doleful winds;
And doleful winds, wail to the howling hills;
And howling hills, mourn to the dismal vales;
And dismal vales, sigh to the sorrowing brooks;
And sorrowing brooks, weep to the weeping stream:
And weeping stream, awake the groaning deep;
And let the instrument take up the song,
Responsive to the voice—harmonious wo!
Ye heavens, great archway of the universe!
Put sackcloth on; and Ocean, clothe thyself
In garb of widowhood, and gather all
Thy waves into a groan, and utter it—
Long, loud, deep, piercing, dolorous, immense:
The occasion asks it; Nature dies; and God,
And angels, come to lay her in the grave!
But we have overleaped our theme: behind
A little season waits a verse or two:
The years that followed the millennial rest.
Bad years they were; and first, as signal sure,
That at the core religion was diseased,
The sons of Levi strove again, for place,
And eminence, and names of swelling pomp,
Setting their feet upon the people's neck,
And slumbering in the lap of civil power;
Of civil power again tyrannical.
And second sign, sure sign, whenever seen,
That holiness was dying in a land,
The Sabbath was profaned, and set at nought:
The honest seer, who spoke the truth of God
Plainly, was left with empty walls; and round
The frothy orator, who busked his tales
In quackish pomp of noisy words, the ear
Tickling, but leaving still the heart unprobed,
The judgment uninformed,—numbers immense
Flocked, gaping wide, with passions high inflamed;
And on the way returning heated home,
Of eloquence, and not of truth, conversed—
Mean eloquence that wanted sacred truth.
Two principles from the beginning strove
In human nature, still dividing man—
Sloth and activity, the lust of praise,
And indolence, that rather wished to sleep.
And not unfrequently in the same mind,
They dubious contest held; one gaining now,
And now the other crowned, and both again
Keeping the field, with equal combat fought.
Much different was their voice: Ambition called
To action; Sloth invited to repose.
Ambition early rose, and, being up,
Toiled ardently, and late retired to rest;
Sloth lay till mid-day, turning on his couch,
Like ponderous door upon its weary hinge,
And having rolled him out with much ado,
And many a dismal sigh, and vain attempt,
He sauntered out accoutred carelessly—
With half-oped, misty, unobservant eye,
Somniferous, that weighed the object down
On which its burden fell—an hour or two,
Then with a groan retired to rest again.
The one, whatever deed had been achieved,
Thought it too little, and too small the praise:
The other tried to think, for thinking so
Answered his purpose best, that what of great
Mankind could do, had been already done;
And therefore laid him calmly down to sleep.
Different in mode—destructive both alike:
Destructive always indolence; and love
Of fame destructive always too, if less
Than praise of God it sought, content with less;
Even then not current, if it sought his praise
From other motive than resistless love:
Tho' base, main-spring of action in the world;
And under name of vanity and pride,
Was greatly practised on by cunning men.
It opened the niggard's purse; clothed nakedness;
Gave beggars food; and threw the Pharisee
Upon his knees, and kept him long in act
Of prayer; it spread the lace upon the fop,
His language trimmed, and planned his curious gait;
It stuck the feather on the gay coquette,
And on her finger laid the heavy load
Of jewellery: it did—what did it not?
The gospel preached, the gospel paid, and sent
The gospel; conquered nations; cities built;
Measured the furrow of the field with nice
Directed share; shaped bulls, and cows, and rams;
And threw the ponderous stone; and pitiful,
Indeed, and much against the grain, it dragged
The stagnant, dull, predestinated fool,
Thro' learning's halls, and made him labour much
Abortively; tho' sometimes not unpraised
He left the sage's chair, and home returned,
Making his simple mother think that she
Had born a man. In schools, designed to root
Sin up, and plant the seeds of holiness
In youthful minds, it held a signal place.
The little infant man, by nature proud,
Was taught the Scriptures by the love of praise,
And grew religious as he grew in fame.
And thus the principle, which out of heaven
The devil threw, and threw him down to hell,
And keeps him there, was made an instrument,
To moralize, and sanctify mankind;
And in their hearts beget humility:
With what success it needs not now to say.
Destructive both we said, activity,
And sloth—behold the last exemplified,
In literary man. Not all at once,
He yielded to the soothing voice of sleep;
But having seen a bough of laurel wave,
He effort made to climb; and friends, and even
Himself, talked of his greatness, as at hand,
And prophesying drew his future life.
Vain prophecy! his fancy, taught by sloth,
Saw in the very threshold of pursuit,
A thousand obstacles; he halted first,
And while he halted, saw his burning hopes,
Grow dim and dimmer still; ambition's self,
The advocate of loudest tongue, decayed;
His purposes, made daily, daily broken,
Like plant uprooted oft, and set again,
More sickly grew, and daily wavered more:
Till at the last, decision, quite worn out,
Decision, fulcrum of the mental powers,
Resigned the blasted soul to staggering chance;
Sleep gathered fast, and weighed him downward still;
His eye fell heavy from the mount of fame;
His young resolves to benefit the world,
Perished, and were forgotten; he shut his ear
Against the painful news of rising worth;
And drank with desperate thirst the poppy's juice;
A deep and mortal slumber settled down,
Upon his weary faculties oppressed;
He rolled from side to side, and rolled again;
And snored, and groaned, and withered, and expired,
And rotted on the spot, leaving no name.
The hero best example gives of toil
Unsanctified. One word his history writes:
He was a murderer above the laws,
And greatly praised for doing murderous deeds:
And now he grew, and reached his perfect growth.
And also now the sluggard soundest slept,
And by him lay the uninterred corpse.
Of every order, sin and wickedness,
Deliberate, cool, malicious villany,
This age, attained maturity, unknown
Before; and seemed in travail to bring forth
Some last, enormous, monstrous deed of guilt—
Original, unprecedented guilt,
That might obliterate the memory
Of what had hitherto been done most vile.
Inventive men were paid, at public cost,
To plan new modes of sin: the holy word
Of God was burned, with acclamations loud:
New tortures were invented for the good:
For still some good remained, as whiles thro' sky
Of thickest clouds, a wandering star appeared:
New oaths of blasphemy were framed, and sworn:
And men in reputation grew, as grew
The stature of their crimes: Faith was not found;
Truth was not found; truth always scarce; so scarce
That half the misery which groaned on earth,
In ordinary times, was progeny
Of disappointment daily coming forth
From broken promises, that might have ne'er
Been made, or being made, might have been kept.
Justice and mercy too were rare, obscured
In cottage garb: before the palace door,
The beggar rotted, starving in his rags:
And on the threshold of luxurious domes,
The orphan child laid down his head, and died;
Nor unamusing was his piteous cry
To women, who had now laid tenderness
Aside, best pleased with sights of cruelty;
Flocking, when fouler lusts would give them time,
To horrid spectacles of blood; where men,
Or guiltless beasts, that seemed to look to heaven,
With eye imploring vengeance on the earth,
Were tortured for the merriment of kings.
The advocate for him who offered most
Pleaded; the scribe, according to the hire,
Worded the lie, adding for every piece,
An oath of confirmation; judges raised
One hand to intimate the sentence, death,
Imprisonment, or fine, or loss of goods,
And in the other held a lusty bribe,
Which they had taken to give the sentence wrong;
So managing the scale of justice still,
That he was wanting found who poorest seemed.
But laymen, most renowned for devilish deeds,
Laboured at distance still behind the priest:
He shore his sheep, and having packed the wool,
Sent them unguarded to the hill of wolves;
And to the bowl deliberately sat down,
And with his mistress mocked at sacred things.
The theatre was from the very first
The favourite haunt of sin; tho' honest men,
Some very honest, wise, and worthy men,
Maintained it might be turned to good account;
And so perhaps it might; but never was.
From first to last it was an evil place:
And now such things were acted there, as made
The devils blush: and from the neighbourhood,
Angels and holy men trembling retired.
And what with dreadful aggravation crowned
This dreary time, was sin against the light:
All men knew God, and knowing disobeyed;
And gloried to insult him to his face.
Another feature only we shall mark—
It was withal a highly polished age,
And scrupulous in ceremonious rite.
When stranger stranger met upon the way,
First each to each bowed most respectfully,
And large profession made of humble service,
And then the stronger took the other's purse.
And he that stabbed his neighbour to the heart,
Stabbed him politely, and returned the blade
Reeking into its sheath, with graceful air.
Meantime the earth gave symptoms of her end;
And all the scenery above proclaimed,
That the great last catastrophe was near.
The sun at rising staggered and fell back;
As one too early up, after a night
Of late debauch; then rose, and shone again,
Brighter than wont; and sickened again, and paused
In zenith altitude, as one fatigued;
And shed a feeble twilight ray at noon,
Rousing the wolf before his time to chace
The shepherd and his sheep, that sought for light,
And darkness found, astonished, terrified;
Then out of course rolled furious down the west,
As chariot reined by awkward charioteer,
And waiting at the gate, he on the earth
Gazed, as he thought he ne'er might see't again.
The bow of mercy, heretofore so fair,
Ribbed with the native hues of heavenly love,
Disastrous colours showed, unseen till now;
Changing upon the watery gulph, from pale
To fiery red, and back again to pale;
And o'er it hovered wings of wrath. The moon,
Swaggered in midst of heaven, grew black, and dark,
Unclouded, uneclipsed. The stars fell down;
Tumbling from off their towers like drunken men;
Or seemed to fall—and glimmered now; and now
Sprang out in sudden blaze; and dimmed again;
As lamp of foolish virgin lacking oil.
The heavens this moment looked serene; the next
Glowed like an oven with God's displeasure hot.
Nor less below was intimation given,
Of some disaster great and ultimate.
The tree that bloomed, or hung with clustering fruit,
Untouched by visible calamity
Of frost or tempest, died and came again:
The flower, and herb, fell down as sick; then rose
And fell again: the fowls of every hue,
Crowding together sailed on weary wing,
And hovering, oft they seemed about to light;
Then soared, as if they thought the earth unsafe:
The cattle looked with meaning face on man:
Dogs howled, and seemed to see more than their masters:
And there were sights that none had seen before;
And hollow, strange, unprecedented sounds:
And earnest whisperings ran along the hills
At dead of night; and long, deep, endless sighs,
Came from the dreary vale; and from the waste
Came horrid shrieks, and fierce unearthly groans,
The wail of evil spirits, that now felt
The hour of utter vengeance near at hand.
The winds from every quarter blew at once,
With desperate violence, and whirling, took
The traveller up, and threw him down again,
At distance from his path, confounded, pale.
And shapes, strange shapes! in winding sheets were seen,
Gliding thro' night, and singing funeral songs,
And imitating sad sepulchral rites:
And voices talked among the clouds; and still
The words that men could catch, were spoken of them,
And seemed to be the words of wonder great,
And expectation of some vast event.
Earth shook, and swam, and reeled, and opened her jaws,
By earthquake tossed, and tumbled to and fro:
And louder than the ear of man had heard,
The thunder bellowed, and the ocean groaned.
The race of men, perplexed, but not reformed,
Flocking together, stood in earnest crowds,
Conversing of the awful state of things.
Some curious explanations gave, unlearned;
Some tried affectedly to laugh; and some
Gazed stupidly; but all were sad, and pale;
And wished the comment of the wise. Nor less,
These prodigies, occurring night and day,
Perplexed philosophy: the magi tried—
Magi, a name not seldom given to fools,
In the vocabulary of earthly speech—
They tried to trace them still to second cause;
But scarcely satisfied themselves; tho' round
Their deep deliberations crowding came,
And wondering at their wisdom, went away,
Much quieted, and very much deceived,
The people, always glad to be deceived.
These warnings passed—they unregarded passed:
And all in wonted order calmly moved.
The pulse of Nature regularly beat,
And on her cheek the bloom of perfect health
Again appeared. Deceitful pulse! and bloom
Deceitful! and deceitful calm! The Earth
Was old and worn within; but like the man,
Who noticed not his mid-day strength decline,
Sliding so gently round the curvature
Of life, from youth to age—she knew it not.
The calm was like the calm, which oft the man
Dying, experienced before his death;
The bloom was but a hectic flush, before
The eternal paleness: but all these were taken,
By this last race of men, for tokens of good.
And blustering public News aloud proclaimed,
News always gabbling, ere they well had thought,
Prosperity, and joy, and peace; and mocked
The man who kneeling prayed, and trembled still:
And all in earnest to their sins returned.
It was not so in heaven—the elders round
The throne conversed about the state of man,
Conjecturing, for none of certain knew,
That Time was at an end. They gazed intense
Upon the Dial's face, which yonder stands
In gold, before the Sun of Righteousness,
Jehovah; and computes times, seasons, years,
And destinies; and slowly numbers o'er
The mighty cycles of eternity;
By God alone completely understood;
But read by all, revealing much to all.
And now to saints of eldest skill, the ray,
Which on the gnomon fell of Time, seemed sent
From level west, and hasting quickly down.
The holy Virtues watching, saw besides,
Great preparation going on in heaven,
Betokening great event; greater than aught
That first created seraphim had seen.
The faithful messengers, who have for wing
The lightning, waiting day and night, on God,
Before his face—beyond their usual speed,
On pinion of celestial light, were seen,
Coming and going, and their road was still
From heaven to earth, and back again to heaven.
The angel of Mercy, bent before the Throne,
By earnest pleading, seemed to hold the hand
Of vengeance back, and win a moment more,
Of late repentance for some sinful world
In jeopardy. And now the hill of God,
The mountain of his majesty, rolled flames
Of fire; now smiled with momentary love;
And now again with fiery fierceness burned:
And from behind the darkness of his Throne,
Through which created vision never saw,
The living thunders, in their native caves,
Muttered the terrors of Omnipotence,
And ready seemed, impatient to fulfil
Some errand of exterminating wrath.
Meanwhile the Earth increased in wickedness;
And hasted daily to fill up her cup.
Satan raged loose; Sin had her will; and Death
Enough: blood trod upon the heels of blood;
Revenge, in desperate mood, at midnight met
Revenge; war brayed to war; deceit deceived
Deceit; lie cheated lie; and treachery
Mined under treachery; and perjury
Swore back on perjury; and blasphemy
Arose with hideous blasphemy; and curse
Loud answered curse; and drunkard stumbling fell
O'er drunkard fallen; and husband husband met,
Returning each from other's bed defiled;
Thief stole from thief; and robber on the way
Knocked robber down; and lewdness, violence,
And hate, met lewdness, violence, and hate.
Oh Earth! thy hour was come; the last elect
Was born; complete the number of the good;
And the last sand fell from the glass of Time.
The cup of guilt was full up to the brim;
And Mercy, weary with beseeching, had
Retired behind the sword of Justice, red
With ultimate and unrepenting wrath:
But man knew not: he o'er his bowl laughed loud;
And prophesying, said: To-morrow shall
As this day be, and more abundant still—
As thou shalt hear. But hark! the trumpet sounds,
And calls to evening song; for, though with hymn
Eternal, course succeeding course, extol
In presence of the incarnate, holy God,
And celebrate his never-ending praise,—
Duly at morn, and night, the multitudes
Of men redeemed, and angels, all the hosts
Of glory, join in universal song;
And pour celestial harmony, from harps
Above all number, eloquent and sweet,
Above all thought of melody conceived.
And now behold the fair inhabitants,
Delightful sight! from numerous business turn,
And round and round thro' all the extent of bliss,
Towards the temple of Jehovah bow,
And worship reverently before his face!
Pursuits are various here, suiting all tastes;
Though holy all, and glorifying God.
Observe yon band pursue the sylvan stream,
Mounting among the cliffs—they pull the flower,
Springing as soon as pulled; and marvelling, pry
Into its veins, and circulating blood,
And wondrous mimicry of higher life;
Admire its colours, fragrance, gentle shape;
And thence admire the God who made it so—
So simple, complex, and so beautiful.
Behold yon other band, in airy robes
Of bliss—they weave the sacred bower of rose
And myrtle shade, and shadowy verdant bay,
And laurel, towering high; and round their song,
The pink and lily bring, and amaranth;
Narcissus sweet, and jessamine; and bring
The clustering vine, stooping with flower and fruit;
The peach and orange, and the sparkling stream,
Warbling with nectar to their lips unasked;
And talk the while of everlasting love.
On yonder hill, behold another band,
Of piercing, steady, intellectual eye,
And spacious forehead of sublimest thought—
They reason deep of present, future, past;
And trace effect to cause; and meditate
On the eternal laws of God, which bind
Circumference to centre; and survey
With optic tubes, that fetch remotest stars
Near them, the systems circling round immense,
Innumerous. See how—as he, the sage,
Among the most renowned in days of Time,
Renowned for large, capacious, holy soul—
Demonstrates clearly, motion, gravity,
Attraction, and repulsion, still opposed;
And dips into the deep, original,
Unknown, mysterious elements of things—
See how the face of every auditor
Expands with admiration of the skill,
Omnipotence, and boundless love of God!
These other, sitting near the tree of life,
In robes of linen flowing white and clean,
Of holiest aspect, of divinest soul,
Angels and men—into the glory look
Of the Redeeming Love, and turn the leaves
Of man's redemption o'er; the secret leaves,
Which none on earth were found worthy to open:
And as they read the mysteries divine,
The endless mysteries of Salvation wrought
By God's incarnate Son, they humbler bow
Before the Lamb, and glow with warmer love.
These other, there relaxed beneath the shade
Of yon embowering palms, with friendship smile,
And talk of ancient days, and young pursuits,
Of dangers past, of godly triumphs won;
And sing the legends of their native land—
Less pleasing far than this their Father's house.
Behold that other band, half lifted up
Between the hill and dale, reclined beneath
The shadow of impending rocks; 'mong streams,
And thundering water-falls, and waving boughs,
That band of countenance sublime, and sweet,
Whose eye with piercing intellectual ray,
Now beams severe, or now bewildered seems;
Left rolling wild, or fixed in idle gaze,
While Fancy, and the soul are far from home—
These hold the pencil—art divine! and throw
Before the eye remembered scenes of love:
Each picturing to each the hills, and skies,
And treasured stories of the world he left:
Or, gazing on the scenery of heaven,
They dip their hand in colour's native well,
And, on the everlasting canvass, dash
Figures of glory, imagery divine,
With grace and grandeur in perfection knit.
But whatso'er these spirits blest pursue,
Where'er they go, whatever sights they see
Of glory and bliss thro' all the tracts of heaven;
The centre still, the figure eminent,
Whither they ever turn, on whom all eyes
Repose with infinite delight—is God,
And his Incarnate Son, the Lamb, once slain
On Calvary to ransom ruined men.
None idle here: look where thou wilt, they all
Are active, all engaged in meet pursuit;
Not happy else. Hence is it that the song
Of heaven is ever new; for daily thus,
And nightly, new discoveries are made,
Of God's unbounded wisdom, power, and love,
Which give the understanding larger room,
And swell the hymn with ever-growing praise.
Behold they cease! and every face to God
Turns; and we pause, from high poetic theme,
Not worthy least of being sung in heaven,
And on unvailed Godhead look from this,
Our oft frequented hill.—He takes the harp,
Nor needs to seek befitting phrase; unsought,
Numbers harmonious roll along the lyre,
As river in its native bed, they flow
Spontaneous, flowing with the tide of thought.
He takes the harp—a bard of Judah leads
This night the boundless song; the bard that once,
When Israel's king was sad and sick to death,
A message brought of fifteen added years.
Before the throne he stands sublime, in robes
Of glory; and now his fingers wake the chords
To praise, which we, and all in heaven repeat.
Harps of eternity! begin the song,
Redeemed, and angel harps! begin to God,
Begin the anthem ever sweet and new,
While I extol Him holy, just, and good.
Life, beauty, light, intelligence, and love!
Eternal, uncreated, infinite!
Unsearchable Jehovah! God of truth!
Maker, upholder, governor of all:
Thyself unmade, ungoverned, unupheld.
Omnipotent, unchangeable, Great God!
Exhaustless fulness! giving unimpaired!
Bounding immensity, unspread, unbound!
Highest and best! beginning, middle, end.
All seeing Eye! all seeing, and unseen!
Hearing, unheard! all knowing, and unknown!
Above all praise! above all height of thought!
Proprietor of immortality!
Glory ineffable! Bliss underived!
Of old thou built'st thy throne on righteousness,
Before the morning Stars their song began,
Or silence heard the voice of praise. Thou laid'st
Eternity's foundation stone, and saw'st
Life and existence out of Thee begin.
Mysterious more, the more displayed, where still
Upon thy glorious Throne thou sitt'st alone;
Hast sat alone; and shalt for ever sit
Alone; invisible, immortal One!
Behind essential brightness unbeheld.
Incomprehensible! what weight shall weigh?
What measure measure Thee? what know we more,
Of Thee, what need to know, than Thou hast taught,
And bid'st us still repeat, at morn and even—
God! everlasting Father! holy One!
Our God, our Father, our Eternal All.
Source whence we came; and whither we return;
Who made our spirits, who our bodies made;
Who made the heaven, who made the flowery land;
Who made all made; who orders, governs all:
Who walks upon the wind; who holds the wave
In hollow of thy hand; whom thunders wait;
Whom tempests serve; whom flaming fires obey:
Who guides the circuit of the endless years:
And sitt'st on high, and mak'st creation's top
Thy footstool; and behold'st below Thee, all—
All nought, all less than nought, and vanity.
Like transient dust that hovers on the scale,
Ten thousand worlds are scattered in thy breath.
Thou sitt'st on high, and measures destinies,
And days, and months, and wide revolving years:
And dost according to thy holy will;
And none can stay thy hand; and none withhold
Thy glory; for in judgment, Thou, as well
As mercy, art exalted, day and night.
Past, present, future, magnify thy name.
Thy works all praise Thee; all thy angels praise:
Thy saints adore, and on thy altars burn
The fragrant incense of perpetual love.
They praise Thee now: their hearts, their voices, praise,
And swell the rapture of the glorious song.
Harp! lift thy voice on high—shout, angels shout!
And loudest ye redeemed! glory to God,
And to the Lamb, who bought us with his blood;
From every kindred, nation, people, tongue;
And washed, and sanctified, and saved our souls;
And gave us robes of linen pure, and crowns
Of life, and made us kings and priests to God.
Shout back to ancient Time! Sing loud, and wave
Your palms of triumph! sing, where is thy sting,
O Death? where is thy victory, O grave?
Thanks be to God, eternal thanks, who gave
Us victory through Jesus Christ, our Lord.
Harp, lift thy voice on high! shout, angels shout!
And loudest ye redeemed! glory to God,
And to the Lamb—all glory and all praise;
All glory and all praise, at morn and even,
That come and go eternally; and find
Us happy still, and Thee for ever blest.
Glory to God, and to the Lamb. Amen.
Forever, and forever more. Amen.
And those who stood upon the sea of glass;
And those who stood upon the battlements,
And lofty towers of New Jerusalem;
And those who circling stood, bowing afar,
Exalted on the everlasting hills,
Thousands of thousands—thousands infinite—
With voice of boundless love, answered: Amen.
And through eternity, near, and remote,
The worlds adoring, echoed back: Amen.
And God the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost—
The One Eternal! smiled superior bliss.
And every eye, and every face in heaven,
Reflecting, and reflected, beamed with love.
Nor did he not—the Virtue new arrived,
From Godhead gain an individual smile,
Of high acceptance, and of welcome high,
And confirmation evermore in good.
Meantime the landscape glowed with holy joy.
Zephyr, with wing dipt from the well of life,
Sporting through Paradise, shed living dews:
The flowers, the spicy shrubs, the lawns refreshed,
Breathed their selectest balm; breathed odours, such
As angels love: and all the trees of heaven,
The cedar, pine, and everlasting oak,
Rejoicing on the mountains, clapped their hands.