University of Virginia Library

Ode upon Christ's Crucifixion.

Enough of Pagan idle Toys;
Change the Strings, and raise the Voice,
To sacred Notes the Lyre apply'd,
Hail the King! the Crucify'd!
Of Wonders Thou eternal Store!
O what first shall I explore?
Fain would I scan, fain would I tell
Mysteries unspeakable,
By Man or Spirits blest on high,
How the living God could die!
I'll tell of Love to Creatures' Sight
Fathomless and infinite.
His well-lov'd Son the Father chose
Bleeding Ransom for his Foes!
I'll sing in lofty Strains aloud
Triumphs of the bury'd God.
Hell and the Grave are Captives led,
Death is conquer'd by the Dead!
But hark! from Calvary rebounds
Mixture of affrighting Sounds,
Loud ecchoing dreadful from afar,
Of the Slain and of the Slayer,
That wounds mine Ear! Haste, quickly fly
To the Mountain's Top, mine Eye:
Him 'midst the Three expiring view;
How unlike the other Two!
His gentle Head he meekly bends,
Wide his sacred Arms extends;
The cruel Nails, his Weight that bear,
Tear him, fast'ning while they tear.
This suffer'd, wretched Man, for Thee,
Without suff'ring can'st Thou see?
Thick rise thy Groans, thy Vesture tear,
Beat the Breast, and rend the Hair;
The tend'rest yearning Pangs be thine:
All in Purple see him shine,
Not purchas'd from the Tyrian Shore,
Dy'd, alas! with dropping Gore;
Part by his bleeding Temples shed
From the Thorns which pierc'd his Head,
Part from the long-drawn Furrows flow'd,
Which the twisted Scourge has plough'd.
High let thy Streams of Sorrow rise,
Ope the Fountains of thine Eyes,
Pour, pour on Earth a gushing Flood:
Since, so lib'ral of his Blood,
His vital Drops for Thee He spares,
Can'st thou, Mortal, grudge thy Tears?