 | Sermons and songs of the Christian life |  |
65
THE TWISTED THORN.
Night hath shut the prisoner in,
Night of terror, night of sin;
Vain for light my eyeballs roll,
Darkly here I dwell in dole;
On my couch I plain and mourn,
Bleeding with the twisted thorn.
Night of terror, night of sin;
Vain for light my eyeballs roll,
Darkly here I dwell in dole;
On my couch I plain and mourn,
Bleeding with the twisted thorn.
What arises dark and still?
Oh, 't is Calvary's awful hill!
Lo, the drooping sufferer there!
Lo, the unprevailing prayer!
Lo, the temples pierced and torn,
Bleeding with the twisted thorn!
Oh, 't is Calvary's awful hill!
Lo, the drooping sufferer there!
Lo, the unprevailing prayer!
Lo, the temples pierced and torn,
Bleeding with the twisted thorn!
What arises clear and still?
'T is Ascension's sacred hill!
See the rifted clouds retire,
Flaming with the fleecy fire,
Through them see a form upborne—
He who wore the twisted thorn!
'T is Ascension's sacred hill!
See the rifted clouds retire,
Flaming with the fleecy fire,
Through them see a form upborne—
He who wore the twisted thorn!
What is that I see afar?
'T is the blinking of a star;
'T is Orion! 'tis the Sun!
'T is the Conqueror coming on,
Riding through the gates of Morn,
He who wore the twisted thorn.
'T is the blinking of a star;
'T is Orion! 'tis the Sun!
'T is the Conqueror coming on,
Riding through the gates of Morn,
He who wore the twisted thorn.
66
Look ye up to Calvary's hill,
Ye who bear the pains of ill;
Look ye towards Ascension Mount,
Ye who drink the bitter fount;
Look ye towards the gates of Morn,
Ye who wear the twisted thorn!
Ye who bear the pains of ill;
Look ye towards Ascension Mount,
Ye who drink the bitter fount;
Look ye towards the gates of Morn,
Ye who wear the twisted thorn!
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