University of Virginia Library

The throng to Jesus press'd with hasty feet,
When he with calmness did their insults meet;
Then ask'd them whom they sought,—awhile o'ercame
By pow'r divine, they shrunk in silent shame;
Again he ask'd,—when Jesus, they reply'd,—
Their strength then fail'd, nor could their purpose guide.
Appall'd, they trembling fell upon the ground,
While Horror spread her gloomy influence round,
Nor durst they rise, that sacred face to view,
Which precious tears of mercy did bedew.
Then had they gladly left this impious deed,
Had not the Tempter urg'd them to proceed,
For he had enter'd Judas' treach'rous breast
Who now advanc'd, and Jesus thus address'd—
Hail, Master! hail, then gave the faithless kiss
A sign intended to defeat the bliss
For Man prepar'd—thus did the Fiend devise
His fruitless wiles, to make his empire rise:
Alas! how weak, how futile, and how vain,
Like modern Infidels, who rather strain
The falsest tales than own a Saviour's reign.

As the Messiah knew the inmost thought
Of his pursuers, and whom 'twas they sought,
That they were thirsting for his precious life,
Striving to wound the healer of all strife,
After his word their hearts with fear had fill'd
And made their cruelty to pity yield,
Inspir'd by the Infernal they renew'd
Their rankling rage, and with revenge pursu'd
Man's heav'nly friend—
Thus when the caprice of a giddy throng
Claims as a fav'rite work a maxim wrong,
Not even reason can their rage restrain,
But folly triumphs in their madd'ning brain.

The mob tumult'ous, thro' the crafty wiles
Of their abettors, heeded not the smiles
Of the Redeemer, nor the sweet discourse,
Which flow'd from him to give those smiles due force;
But with rude clamour seiz'd him instantly,
While oaths and execrations rent the sky.
When thus the Christ,—What! are ye come with swords
And staves to take me, why not when my words
You daily heard within your holy dome,
Oh! why not then? but now, the time is come.
Yet know ye now, if I resistance chose
Heav'n's panoply would soon confound my foes:
Not all th' united pow'rs of human art
Would aught avail;—but I fulfil the part
My Father hath assign'd.—
This said, the Soldiers dragg'd him to the hall,
Where Priests and Elders waited for his fall,
Prepar'd with subtle artifice they came,
By falshood witnesses subborn'd, to frame
A tale,—to prove his guilt—alas! indeed,
It is for Man's vile guilt he's doom'd to bleed!—
Prejudg'd, he came, a spectacle of woe,
But first must to th' ambitious Annas go;
Mean while with mockeries and scoffing smile
The poor deluded zealots him revile.

Night now return'd, but Jesus by a guard
Of common Soldiers was from rest debarr'd;
No pitying heart his innocence admir'd,—
The Officers and Priests to sleep retir'd
On beds of down;—for him they found no bed
Nor ev'n the means to rest his sacred head;
While nought but tumult 'midst the impious sound
Of vilest execrations him surround.
Thus pass'd the tedious hours—at length the Sun
In orient splendor his bright race begun;
But how his face with conscious blushes glow'd,
To see his great Creator's weary load;
Who bearing all the ills since guilt began
Was made the sport,—the scorn of sinful Man.

Cai'phas at dawn of day with solemn state,
Ascended what was call'd the holy seat
Of Justice, but alas! that sacred name
Chican'ry's wiles too often does defame.
Near this tribunal Christ's accusers stood,
Nor heeded how, so they could spill his blood.
The priestly Annas with his stately train
(A train too ready temp'rals to maintain)
First him arraign'd, with them the rulers join'd
Ev'n hoary Elders in their charge combin'd.—
Silent Christ stands, amidst their envious spleen,
Secure in innocence, with mind serene,
And hears himself accus'd of various crimes
Which ignorance and malice of the times
Had falsely urg'd—nor further they proceed,
But others find to do the impious deed.
Two then appear'd, whom truth had ne'er adorn'd,
Whom these flagitious Hypocrites subborn'd
By many gifts, and swore,—this Man has said
Should desolation o'er the temple spread;
That in three days he'll build its walls again—
These are the works this boaster does maintain.

Thus when a court vile Sycophants surround,
An upright Magistrate is seldom found;
For the High Priest tho' stil'd a Judge supreme,
Let furious rage his sacred office shame.
Vex'd that the wav'ring multitude before
With loud Hosannas should the Christ adore,
And fraught with envy, stifled ev'ry ray
Of light, to give revenge its hateful sway.—
Now Satan long had roam'd about the earth,
Striving to blast the bless'd Redeemer's birth,—
That busy restless Fiend had often try'd
To tempt the Lord, and cunningly apply'd
His artful stratagems, with curious skill
To make him fall subservient to his will.
But vain each effort—oft as he assail'd
The Saviour Christ, as oft his wiles had fail'd.
Yet still led on by his unbounded pride
To gain success, his arts once more he try'd,
For he unseen had enter'd ev'ry court,
And to the heart of Annas did resort,
'Till in it he awak'd that furious zeal.
Which never sinks till blood is made the seal.—
In private conference the Priests now meet,
And Pilate chose, their purpose to compleat,
A governor, as cruel as his lord
Tiberius, for his vices much abhorr'd:
But Pilate, tho' so wicked, long time strove,
With caution, how he judg'd the Lord of love;
Nay, said, from all the accusations heard,
He would release him—for no guilt appear'd.

When the Priests heard the Roman's lenient views,
Declaring Jesus faultless to the Jews,
With all the cunning of that crafty tribe,
They made the Governor fresh thoughts imbibe.
Then proofs of treason deep they forthwith bring
That Jesus had proclaim'd himself a King;
And had usurp'd that glory—due to none
But mighty Cæsar, could he this charge shun?
That while he exercis'd the Roman laws,
His duty bound to aid his master's cause.—
Thus with much cunning and delusive art
They quickly sway'd the Judge's wav'ring heart;
Who then in haste tho' Christ he own'd so pure,
Commanded that he scourging should endure:
This said, th' obedient Soldiers shew'd their zeal,
Nor dar'd they from the stern command appeal.
The deep'ning furrows on his back were found,
The quiv'ring flesh display'd each ghastly wound;
Fast streams the blood,—the purple veins are tore
His holy frame is stain'd with clotted gore.—
At length the Soldiers, weary'd out, forbear;—
But to inflict fresh tortures now prepare,
A crown of thorns upon his head they plac'd,
A fictious sceptre too his hand disgrac'd;
Then in derision round their God they vaunt,
And bow'd the knee, they hail him King, and taunt
With cruel spleen: to these indignities
They added buffetting and veil'd his eyes;
While young and old around him jeering cry,
Who is it strikes thee? prithee prophecy?
Then striking on the crown, the scornful crown,
From ev'ry vein the blood came trickling down.

Mov'd to behold this Man of griefs and woe,
Pilate relax'd again, would pity shew;
And sought while mercy triumph'd in his mind
To rescue him, who came to save Mankind.
Full well he knew the custom of the Jews
At th' yearly feast he dar'd not to refuse,
Which was, to grant a pardon free to one
Who stood convicted: thus he meant to shun
The cruel deed, and therefore brought out two,
A Murderer one, the other to their view
Was the Messiah, wounded, faint, and pale,
Then cry'd aloud, let innocence prevail;
Behold the guiltless object of your rage,
And let his woes your cruelty asswage;
Say, whom shall I release, whom shall I bring,
Barabbas? no, much rather Christ your King.

Those being prepar'd who had prejudg'd his death,
Cry'd, in one voice, as prompted by one breath,
We have no king but Cæsar—thus they rag'd,
And then the mob to turbulence engag'd;
Release Barabbas—give us him they cry'd,
But for the Christ, let him be crucify'd.—
Unmanly cowardice then shook the soul
Of Pilate, in whose breast more terrors roll,
Lest that the Jews should prejudice his name,
And brand him with disgracing Cæsar's fame;
So gave up Christ to death with feign'd consent,
Altho' he had declar'd him innocent:
Then free'd a wretch, both Murderer and Thief,—
But yet to give his tortur'd mind relief
Call'd out for water, and declar'd aloud,
Christ was condemn'd to satisfy the croud;
Then wash'd his hands, bidding all witness bear,
That in his spotless blood he had no share.—
The giddy throng made answer 'twas their act,
Nor would they ever disavow the fact;
Then all as one, yet bound themselves far worse,
And rent the air with this most horrid curse,
His blood be on us and our race—
A horrid imprecation, black as hell,
Invoking ills which after them befell.

Those who for ages had distinguish'd shone
The glory and the dread of ev'ry one,
To whom God had appear'd from Heav'n above,
In pow'r, in wisdom, justice, mercy, love;
Who sent his Seers to teach their chiefest good
In prophecies they all well understood;
That those who ev'ry day had seen the Lord
Display his wonders, heard his healing word,
Should so far lose their reason to prefer
Before him, both a Thief and Murderer;
The Roman Judge to take his life t'inflame
Cursing posterity, with blackest shame,
Appalls the soul, and hence let mortals know,
From raging tumult, justice cannot flow.