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 | Poems : medley and Palestina |  |
134
The Redeemer.
Have pity on me, O my friends!
A mighty hand hath touched me sore.
Why should ye chasten more and more
A man whose sorrow never ends?
A mighty hand hath touched me sore.
Why should ye chasten more and more
A man whose sorrow never ends?
Ye sit upon the judgment seat;
As gods ye judge and persecute:
And I, shall I be meek and mute,
Like one whose pulse hath ceased to beat?
As gods ye judge and persecute:
And I, shall I be meek and mute,
Like one whose pulse hath ceased to beat?
I would that all my words were writ
On graven rock or lettered page,
That they might last from age to age,
And men might read them every whit.
On graven rock or lettered page,
That they might last from age to age,
And men might read them every whit.
I know that my Redeemer bides;
I know that in the latter days
His feet shall stand in earthly ways
And search the glooms where sorrow hides.
I know that in the latter days
His feet shall stand in earthly ways
And search the glooms where sorrow hides.
Yea, though I sleep beneath the sod,
Though worms destroy this strength and bloom,
Yet I shall part the shrouding tomb,
And see my Savior, see my God;
Though worms destroy this strength and bloom,
Yet I shall part the shrouding tomb,
And see my Savior, see my God;
Shall see him for myself alone,
And not with eyes of other men;
Shall look upon His glory when
He lifts me to His gracious throne.
And not with eyes of other men;
Shall look upon His glory when
He lifts me to His gracious throne.
| Poems : medley and Palestina | |