THE STORY OF A BROKEN HEART.
Human hearts that glow with kindness And for others' sorrows feel,
With compassion overflowing, Longing all their grief to heal : When they look with tender wishes, Tenderness in turn to greet
From the hearts they have befriended, And expectant love to meet-
But are met, instead of kindness, Gratitude for love bestowed, With a coarse and churlish answer To the heart that fondly glowed, Know full well how deep and keenly Do the poisoned arrows sting, And far down below the surface Their true hearts' affections wring;
And the souls thus sorely stricken In the softest, weakest place, Need some solace more than human, Need the help of heavenly grace; And affection more than human,
Nothing less than heavenly love, That shall soothe e'en while it whispers "Set your hearts on things above."
So, methinks, then, precious Jesu, When Thy form was bowed with grief, And Thy gentle heart was smitten,
And could nowhere find relief
"Twas that when Thou fain would'st pity, And would'st cleanse each leprous spot,
To thine own beloved Thou camest, But Thine own received Thee not.
ERE took place the awful duel
"Twixt the devil and his Lord
When the powers of light and darkness
Might have hid their faces awed
Awed to watch that strife terrific
When hell's sharpest darts were hurled,
Making one tremendous effort
For the empire of the world!
But from that sublime encounter Thou, O Jesu! Victor came,
And the hosts of earth and Heaven
Well might praise Thy glorious name, Joining (when o'erwhelmed with fasting Thou hadst sunk upon the ground)— With the bright and ministering angels Who, attending, hovered round.
But although the Heavenly beings Who their Lord and Master own Sang above in blessed union,
They alas! were all alone;
For the sinful men apostate
Who this lovely earth debase
Crowned Thee with a crown of brambles, Spat upon thy Thy love-worn face :
Clad Thee in a robe of purple,
In derisive, bitter scorn,
Mocking Thee with royal garment
Such as is by monarchs worn- Crowding round thee, yelling, hooting, In discordant, fiendish bands, Lying, perjuring and blaspheming, Buffeting Thee with their hands:
Dragging Thee like malefactor With a cross upon Thy back Till Thou could'st no longer bear it, For Thou didst the power lack- And the ponderous thing removing,
Lest Thou fell'st beneath its weight, Urged Thee up the Mount of Calvary, There to meet Thy shameful fate.
Then they hung Thee, precious Jesu, On that thrice-accursed thing, And to mock Thy feverish longings Vinegar and wormwood bring: For Thy tongue was parched and swollen, And thy lips were like to burst,
And a cooling drink thou cravedst Just to slake Thy dying thirst.
I WOULD, BUT YE WOULD NOT.
"O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, which killest the prophets, and stonest them that are sent unto thee; how often would I have gathered thy children together, as a hen doth gather her brood under her wings, and ye would not!" LUKE Xiii. 34.
OW often, O Jerusalem, would I have gathered Thy careless children to Myself secure to keep, E'en as a hen her brood beneath her wings soft-feathered Doth call and nestle free from every harm to sleep: I would, but ye would not!
How often, O ye weary ones, would I have carried Those heavy burdens that your hearts so sorely press; How oft I've called, and oh! how wearily I've tarried, Longing in vain to ease you of your dire distress: I would, but ye would not!
How often, O ye tempted ones, would I have wielded My Arm divine against assaults from lurking foes; And victors ye'd have proved where now ye've tamely yielded, And plunged yourselves, alas! in deepest, saddest woes; I would, but ye would not!
How often, O ye hungry ones, would I have nourished Your famished, sinking bodies with the needed bread; How often, too, your thirsting spirits should have flourished. By the cool waters where My flock I gently led; I would, but ye would not!
How often I'd have told you the old gospel story Of all My deep soul-sufferings and ceaseless love- The leaving of My Father's home in glory, And of the many blessed mansions up above: I would, but ye would not!
How often, mourners o'er a precious life-time wasted, And sins committed e'en of deepest, blackest dye, How oft with glorious glad tidings I'd have hasted, Glad joyous tidings of salvation now brought nigh: I would, but ye would not!
How often have I stood in patience, humbly knocking, And waited weary for the door to open wide, While ye in light and ribald carelessness were mocking, And would not let Me come and in your hearts abide : I would, but ye would not!
How often shall I yet in vain to you appealing- How oft exclaim e'en yet through coming years ?- Or will ye now, by low in prayer meekly kneeling, Let this be the last warning cry in heedless ears,
"I WOULD, BUT YE WOULD NOT?"
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