 | Poems |  |
81
THE DEATH OF JESUS.
'Tis finished: he spake the words, and bowedHis head, and died.—Beholding him far off,
They, who had ministered unto him, hope,—
'Tis his last agony: The Temple's vail
Is rent; revealing the most holy place,
Wherein the cherubims their wings extend,
O'ershadowing the mercy-seat of God.
Appalled, the leaning soldier feels the spear
Shake in his grasp; the planted standard falls
Upon the heaving ground: The sun is dimmed,
And darkness shrouds the body of the Lord.
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