Название | The Poetical Works of William Lisle Bowles Vol. 2 |
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Автор произведения | Bowles William Lisle |
Жанр | Зарубежные стихи |
Серия | |
Издательство | Зарубежные стихи |
Год выпуска | 0 |
isbn | http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/32145 |
Who only preach for good of their poor souls,
That they may turn "from darkness unto light,"
And, above all, fly, as the gates of hell,
Morality!27 and Baal's steeple house,
Where, without "heart-work," Doctor Littlegrace
Drones his dull requiem to the snoring clerk!"28
True; he who drawls his heartless homily
For one day's work, and plods, on wading stilts,
Through prosing paragraphs, with inference,
Methodically dull, as orthodox,
Enforcing sagely that we all must die
When God shall call – oh, what a pulpit drone
Is he! The blue fly might as well preach "Hum,"
And "so conclude!"
But save me from the sight
Of curate fop, half jockey and half clerk,
The tandem-driving Tommy of a town,
Disdaining books, omniscient of a horse,
Impatient till September comes again,
Eloquent only of "the pretty girl
With whom he danced last night!" Oh! such a thing
Is worse than the dull doctor, who performs
Duly his stinted task, and then to sleep,
Till Sunday asks another homily
Against all innovations of the age,
Mad missionary zeal, and Bible clubs,
And Calvinists and Evangelicals!
Yes! Evangelicals! Oh, glorious word!
But who deserves that awful name? Not he
Who spits his puny Puritanic spite
On harmless recreation; who reviles
All who, majestic in their distant scorn,
Bear on in silence their calm Christian course.
He only is the Evangelical
Who holds in equal scorn dogmas and dreams,
The Shibboleth of saintly magazines,
Decked with most grim and godly visages;
The cobweb sophistry, or the dark code
Of commentators, who, with loathsome track,
Crawl o'er a text, or on the lucid page,
Beaming with heavenly love and God's own light,
Sit like a nightmare!29 Soon a deadly mist
Creeps o'er our eyes and heart, till angel forms
Turn into hideous phantoms, mocking us,
Even when we look for comfort at the spring
And well of life, while dismal voices cry,
Death! Reprobation! Woe! Eternal woe!
He only is the Evangelical
Who from the human commentary turns
With tranquil scorn, and nearer to his heart
Presses the Bible, till repentant tears,
In silence, wet his cheek, and new-born faith,
And hope, and charity, with radiant smile,
Visit his heart, – all pointing to the cross!
He only is the Evangelical,
Who, with eyes fixed upon that spectacle,
Christ and him crucified, with ardent hope,
And holier feelings, lifts his thoughts from earth,
And cries, My Father! Meantime, his whole heart
Is on God's Word: he preaches Faith, and Hope,
And Charity, – these three, and not that one!
And Charity, the greatest of these three!30
Give me an Evangelical like this! But now
The blackest crimes in tract-religion's code
Are moral virtues! Spare the prodigal, —
He may awake when God shall "call;" but, hell,
Roll thy avenging flames, to swallow up
The son who never left his father's home
Lest he should trust to morals when he dies!
Let him not lay the unction to his soul,
That his upbraiding conscience tells no tale
At that dread hour; bid him confess his sin,
The greater that, with humble hope, he looks
Back on a well-spent life! Bid him confess
That he hath broken all God's holy laws, —
In vain hath he done justly, – loved, in vain,
Mercy, and hath walked humbly with his God!
These are mere works; but faith is everything,
And all in all! The Christian code contains
No "if" or "but!"31 Let tabernacles ring,
And churches too,32 with sanctimonious strains
Baneful as these; and let such strains be heard
Through half the land; and can we shut our eyes,
And, sadly wondering, ask the cause of crimes,
When infidelity stands lowering here,
With open scorn, and such a code as this,
So baneful, withers half the charities
Of human hearts! Oh! dear is Mercy's voice
To man, a mourner in the vale of sin
And death: how dear the still small voice of Faith,
That bids him raise his look beyond the clouds
That hang o'er this dim earth; but he who tears
Faith from her heavenly sisterhood, denies
The gospel, and turns traitor to the cause
He has engaged to plead. Come, Faith, and Hope,
And Charity! how dear to the sad heart,
The consolations and the glorious views
That animate the Christian in his course!
But save, oh! save me from the tract-led Miss,
Who trots to every Bethel club, and broods
O'er some black missionary's monstrous tale,
Reckless of want around her!
But the priest,
Who deems the Almighty frowns upon his throne,
Because two pair of harmless dowagers,
Whose life has passed without a stain, beguile
An evening hour with cards; who deems that hell
Burns fiercer for a saraband; that thou —
Thou, my sweet Shakspeare – thou, whose touch awakes
The inmost heart of virtuous sympathy, —
Thou, O divinest poet! at whose voice
Sad Pity weeps, or guilty Terror drops
The blood-stained dagger from his palsied hand, —
That
27
See "Pilgrim's Progress."
28
See Rowland Hill's caricatures, entitled "Village Dialogues."
29
The text, which no Christian can misunderstand, "God is
30
"And now abideth faith, hope, and charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity." —
31
Literally the expression of Hawker, the apostle of thousands and thousands. I speak of the obvious inference drawn from such expressions, and this daring denial of the very words of his Master: "Happy are ye,
32
I fear many churches have more to answer for than tabernacles.