Oh! never, never can'st thou know That wrung His frame at every pore, DALE. Thou soft-flowing Kedron! by thy limpid stream Our Saviour, at night, when the moon's silver beam Shone bright on thy waters, would oftentimes stray, And lose in their murmurs the toils of the day. How damp were the vapours that fell on His head! Oh, garden of Olivet! dear, honour'd spot! MAD. DE FLEURY. From Calvary a cry was heard, My Saviour! every mournful word A horror of deep darkness fell On Thee, the Immaculate, the Just; Combined to shake Thy filial trust. The scourge, the thorns, the deep disgrace, Unutterable pangs were Thine. Let the dumb world her silence break; Lord, on Thy cross I fix my eye; If e'er I slight its pure control, O let that dying, piercing cry Melt and reclaim my wandering soul! CUNNINGHAM. The Lord of Hosts hath walked This world of man; the one Almighty sent And the blind eyes unclos'd to see the Lord; E And the dumb tongues brake out in songs of praise; MILMAN. O'er Kedron's stream and Salem's height, And Olivet's brown steep, Moves the majestic queen of night, And throws from heaven her silver light, 'Tis a religious hour;-for He, O, holy Father! when the light Of earthly joys grows dim, May hope in Christ grow strong and bright To all who kneel in sorrow's night In trust and prayer like Him. PIEKPONT. A wreath of glory circles still His head- On His pale brow the drops are large and red His hands are clasped, His eyes are raised in prayerAlas! and is there strife He cannot bear, Who calmed the tempest's rage, and raised the dead? There is! there is! for now the powers of hell Those only those which broke with many a groan DALE. At length the worst is o'er, and Thou art laid All still and cold beneath yon dreary stone Around those lips where power and mercy hung, The dull earth o'er Thee, and Thy foes around, Thou sleep'st a silent corse, in funeral fetters wound. So buried with our Lord, we'll close our eyes To the decaying world, till angels bid us rise. Keble. Hast thou not, in the lone wood's shade, Pale, weak, and bending low its head, Transplanted thence, and train'd to grow Fair Sharon's Rose thus lonely grew In scorned Galilee, And fainted 'neath the gory dew Of dark Gethsemane. Now, by the Lord's right hand remov'd By all admir'd, ador'd, belov'd, Its fragrance fills the skies. EAST. |