University of Virginia Library

THE ALTAR.

I. THE GATE OF GETHSEMANE.

1.

Lord, Who for us wert pleaséd to appear,
Shorn of Thy glories on that dreadful night,
And in that terrible eclipse of light
To know the agonies of mortal fear,
In human sympathies thus to draw near
To us Thy creatures;—and e'en now in sight
Entering the cloud of sorrows infinite
At that dread gate of anguish, black and drear,
Didst bid Thy friends adieu, while far below,
Cedron, that brook of sorrows, fled away,
Sighing in dark affright;—in all our woe
Be with us, when beneath th' approaching rod
Of our own sins we tremble, in that day
When man must stand alone to meet his God.

2.

In these Thy sad bereavements, stripp'd of all,
Thou showest in Thyself great Nature's law,
Whereby, as sinful man doth onward draw
To God his Maker, and doth hear His call,
He turns into corruption; all things fall
From off him and depart, with silent awe,
As if the Invisible he nearer saw,
Whose Presence guilty Nature doth appal,—
Which doth recoil with horror at the brink,
And in herself again in silence shrink;—
For death is but the unclothing of the soul;
As it approaches Him, its final goal,
Earthly adherences turn to decay,
His Spirit on them blows, —they pass away.

3.

Where else but in Thy sorrows shall we find
The healing of our own, in that deep fear
Which flesh is heir to; in the coming near
Of that dread hour, when we must leave behind
Those who have grown into our inner mind,
Associates by our pilgrimage made dear,
To enter that dark cloud, where eye and ear,
To scenes without are closed, and have resigned
The things of day and night, with keener sense
To open to the things which are within;—
To that unearthly stillness, more intense,
Where man must meet his Maker, and be known,
Commune and answer with his God alone,
Of judgment, and of sorrow, and of sin.

4.

Then with Thy Finger and Thy Blood imbue
This lesson on the tables of our heart,
Which often all in vain Thy words impart,
That we to earthly friends must bid adieu
In heaven-ward turn'd affection; keep in view
This night of Thy sad parting; and thence know
The art to hold more loosely all below,
Lest with ourselves the loss of them we rue.
So may we better learn to be with Thee,—
Not when Thy visage was with glory starr'd
On Tabor, but with awful sorrows marr'd,
Thy Father's countenance from Thee debarr'd,—
To share Thy griefs, and with that favour'd three
Enter the gate of sad Gethsemane.

5.

But onward yet—a little onward still—
Must we withdraw from kindred and from friends
To know that mystery which thought transcends:
Therefore so oft to wilderness or hill
Did our High-Priest retire, Who knew no ill,
To teach that he who 'neath the burden bends
Of sore transgressions,—knowing not the ends
Of love or hate, which shall the chalice fill
Of his eternity,—hath so great need
To seek for refuge, that he must forego
And cast aside all shadows, which below
The undisturbéd vision may impede
Of that unseen hereafter; and give heed
To those realities he soon must know.

6.

And therefore now, in this dread interval,
Ere we in judgment before God appear,
Whene'er I to Thine altar would draw near,
In solemn preparations would I call
On solitude and silence; and from all
Withdrawn, which wakens here love, hope, or fear,
Commune alone with mine own self, and hear
Thine awful whisper in the judgment-hall
Of mine own secret soul, that cavern deep
Whence issue streams of life. So may I weep,
And in Thy tabernacle long to hide
From the world, from myself, and from my sin;
And where the door is open in Thy side,
With eager arms outstretching, enter in.

II. THE GARDEN.

1.

The stars are silent o'er our heads above,
The graves are silent 'neath our feet below,
And silent are the deepest thoughts we know;
Silent our God, in Whom we live and move;
And silent the unutterable Love
That pleads for man, while he still to and fro
In busy noise and loud tumultuous show
Is hurrying day by day, as if he strove
To drown that Voice which to his heart is given;
Yet wheresoe'er Thy Spirit wakes him, there
Is stillness as of stars in summer even.
Thus round Thine unseen throne still everywhere
Unutterable silence speaks Thy prayer,
“Thy will be done on earth, as 'tis in Heaven.”

2.

“Father, not Mine own will, but Thine be done,”
Thrice spoken, and in speaking thrice fulfill'd;
And so whate'er the Human nature will'd
Is lost in the Divine, and made all one,
In perfect love and perfect union:
The o'errunning cup is drain'd, no drop is spill'd,
Each thought in perfect resignation still'd:
The beatific crown for us is won,—
The Manhood join'd to Godhead. Thus to grieve!
Thus even from a creature to receive
One gleam of consolation sent from heaven,
One drop to lighten that o'erwhelming cup,
Or strengthen the weak Hand that raises up
The bitter chalice,—which to us is given!

3.

Given to us sinners, our due penalty,—
But ta'en by Him and drunk for all mankind:
And worse than bleeding scourge or thorn entwin'd,
The wounded spirit's secret agony,
Which yields itself to death, yet dreads to die.
There is a weight upon each mortal mind;
The good, to their own burden oft resign'd,
To bear some brother's burden fain would try;
But He doth bear the burden of us all.
Yet why that lamentable thrilling moan?
The earth is weak, and trembling to her fall,
And her inhabitants are feeble grown,
Like wither'd leaves at winter's early call:
He beareth up its pillars all alone.

4.

Yea, where else shall we find a solitude
Equal to this; in this His paradise,
In this the garden of His agonies,
Wherein alone the Second Adam stood,
Wherein alone He kneel'd down, sweating blood—
From Him withdrawn all human sympathies,
And bliss Divine all hidden from His eyes,
In wrath for our transgressions! Only good,
He bows beneath the wickedness of all,
And prays like some sin-burden'd criminal:
While groans of sick creation through all time,
And all the woes that flow'd from Adam's crime,
Concentrate were in that dread agony,
And found their utterance in that sad cry.

5.

Thus our High-Priest enters the holy place
With His Own Blood to intercede; and now,
Calls us to join with Him, and leaves below
His prayer, and His example, and His grace;—
His Spirit in our hearts, in this short space
Given for repentance. Thus He bids us know
His groanings of unutterable woe,
And 'neath the cloud of God's averted face
Mourns in our heart of hearts. O awful scene!
Where our High-Priest, as if within the vail,
By us below is interceding seen,
In that dark night of anguish kneeling pale,
With crying, and with tears, and failing breath,
Pleading with Him Who can redeem from death.

6.

Lord, unto me Thy warning Voice reveal,
Lest the world steal my heart, and hide the theft;
But, of her soft appliances bereft,
May I in that bereavement learn to feel
That one thing still is given me—thus to kneel
And be as Thou; that one thing still is left—
That where Thy Flesh is rent, the Rock is cleft,
Thy Hand may for a while from man conceal
What I am now, what I have been before.
And I, if I may find a refuge there,
May oft and oft repeat that holy Prayer,
Closing the door; and while I thus explore
The deeps of sad self-knowledge, more and more
Humiliation learn, but not despair.

III. THE CUP OF AGONY.

1.

Teach me with Thee to mourn,—from Thee to learn
The comfort of the mourner on that day:
From Thy pure Presence let one piercing ray
Lighten our darkness, that I may discern
And with that inextinguish'd fire may burn
The foul black spots within me,—sins that weigh
With burden of an infinite dismay
On Thy sad soul, that knows not where to turn
From the big load of our unnumber'd sins,
Which comes upon Thy spirit's solitude,
As when some storm-fraught thunder-cloud begins,
Falling upon the ground with drops of blood.
Oh, bind me to Thine altar, that no more
I add each day I live to that sad store.

2.

“In sweat of thine own brow thou shalt eat bread;”
This was man's penalty; and here he lies,
Driven from that Garden of his Paradise,—
Here in the wilderness, as one half dead,
With sweat of Blood upon His Body shed,
That we may in that costly Sacrifice
Eat of Life's Bread, and know its countless price,
With bitter herbs and sorrow. While our Head
Is thus bow'd low unto the very ground,
Oh, may we learn the lesson most profound
Contain'd in that His prayer; and from the sight
Know that mysterious penalty aright—
The cost of that true Bread His death shall give,
Whereof alone lost man can eat and live!

3.

Then take Thou us beneath those sheltering wings,
Where God and Man at every bleeding pore
Hath open'd for our sins Thy pardon's door;
We touch, see, feel our God, while memory clings
To every part which meditation brings
Before us; thus the cup that floweth o'er
With these Thy sorrows is for evermore
The cup wherein our health and gladness springs.
The cup we give to Thee is deadly wine,
Made of the poisonous grapes our sins have borne;
Thou givest in return the cup Divine,
Full of Thy love; and for the thorny crown
We give to Thee, Thou givest to Thine own
Wreaths bright with radiance of celestial morn.

4.

For me, then, is this awful Sacrifice,
That Thou art drooping low, and dropping blood,
In this the stillness and the solitude
Of that dread hour, and every drop the price
Of thousands souls; and yet returning thrice,
In love for those who in an hour so rude
Were sleeping 'neath that dark green olive-wood,
With that still quiet voice of meek advice!
With wayward man He ever gently pleads,
But forces not his will, though standing by:
And yet for him, e'en while He speaks, He bleeds
At every vein, as seeing dangers nigh,
While he unconscious looks up vacantly,
And nought discerns, then sleeps, and little heeds.

5.

Within the lowest deep a lower deep
Receives the penitent in true self-hate,
Whose heart the thoughts of Thee shall penetrate;
Who more and more would fain his bosom steep
With rays of light from heaven, and wake to weep
The sins that fold themselves in our dark state,
Lest that e'en now our foes be at the gate,
And at our going hence arouse from sleep,
And summon us to bondage. While our eyes
Are weigh'd down by a seeming false repose
By spirits of darkness, He our danger knows.
But from this fathomless abyss of woes
Who shall raise up the Maker of the skies,
Fall'n to the ground in speechless agonies?

6.

Thus hast Thou from Thy Father's bosom come
To empty all Thy glories, and from sight
Of Thine own Godhead every drop of light
Shut out, to take on Thee a sinner's doom!
No star of light amid the o'erwhelming gloom;
Save when upon the blackness of that night,
Which compass'd Thee as with a living tomb,
One little streak grew brighter and more bright,
An angel's wing, like one soft crystal spar
Of light from heaven. But now that gentle star
Is scared and fled, for up the steep afar
There gleam sulphureous torches lit from hell:
The lights in heaven are all invisible,
And rising Moon withdraws into her cell.

IV. THE KISS OF JUDAS.

1.

And now, from pleading with Thy God above,
To us who caus'd Thy death, resign'd to die,
Thou turnest, veiling all Thy majesty
That we may come to Thee; with words that prove,
Or tender offices that fain would move
Affectionate returns, and bring us nigh.
Let not this day of Thy humility
Tempt us to tread beneath our feet Thy love;
But if Thou to Thy Table wilt receive,
Let nought within us Thy good Spirit grieve;
But wash us clean as guests to sit with Thee;
Grant us the nuptial robe of Charity,
And feet with holy preparation shod,
Lest we for Esau's portion sell our God.

2.

The gentle Lamb that licks the slaughterer's hand—
With kiss of peace to the arch-traitor given,
And meekly laid the healing touch of Heaven
On that fierce leader of the midnight band!
When one word only would at Thy command
Scatter as chaff before the whirlwind driven;
Or, as the lightning opes the summer even,
Disclose the angelic hosts which round Thee stand;
Thou meekly didst Thy victim head incline,
Mid tenderest offices of love Divine;
True Abel, offering up Thyself to die
Into fraternal hands! Not yet is dry
The Blood in mercy pleading from the ground
For those who now with murderous hands surround.

3.

But that good Galilean, brave and bold,
Arm'd for heroic deeds of high emprise,
Has yet to learn his Master's charities,
Where disenthrall'd from Judas' treacherous hold
On Malchus' ear He lays His hand, now cold
With death's dank sweat, and lifts in prayer His eyes.
But other thoughts in Peter's breast arise
Than doth become the shepherd of the fold,
While love and courage all his bosom fires,—
Ready to go to prison and to death.
Be still, and check awhile thy high desires;
Put up again thy sword within its sheath;
One little thing alone thy Lord requires,—
Not to deny Him at a woman's breath.

4.

Thus turnest Thou to us, as if to show
The unspeakable example of God's love;
High as heaven's pillars rise the earth above,
So that surpasseth all the love we know,
And all our bounds of mercy doth o'erflow.
His malice and Thy love together strove,
As if uncertain which at last should prove
Master in that contention. Still e'en now
Warning and watching in kind ministry,
Washing his feet, and giving the true Bread,
And the last kiss of love;—yet all for nought.
O love to perfect consummation brought,
A willing Victim thus led forth to die
For them by whom His holy Blood is shed!

5.

This lamb-like spirit and this hallow'd kiss
Admitted to Thine altars thus of old,
The symbol, rite, and passport to the fold:
Union of souls which knew the chasten'd bliss
Of mutual pardon given, nor thought amiss.
Pledge of true love, that turneth all to gold,
E'en like that fabled rod in story told:
This is that love that hallows all things; this
The odorous spikenard of the costly price,
Whose fragrance fills the world unto the end;
The salt that seasons every sacrifice;
The fire which on the altar doth descend;
That love's communion sweet, which cannot blend
With hearts that harbour deadly avarice.

6.

True Love, which hopeth all things, all things beareth,
Fairest of all that have walked forth on earth,
And left the calm of heaven where she had birth,
Humility's first-born,—for she appeareth
Like Mercy's self, what time from heaven she heareth
Repentance's meek prayer, and leaneth down.
Of all the graces origin and crown;—
True love of God, which loving ever feareth,
So feareth that she feareth nought beside
With that fear which hath torment. Of the Bride
Bright robe, and image of the Father's love;
As when within some little watery sheen
Dwells the reflection of the heavens above,
And the Moon walks the cloudless deep serene.

V. CHRIST IN BONDS.

1.

The quiet night, wherein no sound was heard
Save that meek prayer to sorrow reconcil'd,
To sounds discordant wakes, and tumult wild
Of banded foes approaching: Night's lone bird
By lantern, torch, and noise unwonted stirr'd,
Flaps overhead his wing, with movement mild,
Yet terror strikes in souls by guilt defil'd;
The power of darkness reigns; fears long interr'd
Rise up and walk the gloom: His words have thrill'd
To hearts which no misgiving knew before;
A spell unspeakable hath all things still'd,
And unimagined awfulness hath fill'd:
Those words have power to stop the ocean's roar,
And wake the dead that they shall sleep no more.

2.

A momentary terror seem'd to steep
Their senses, and a felt unearthly power
Before their lowly Victim made them cower—
Like pause that ushers in the thunders deep.
But now the spirits of darkness o'er them lower,
And turn their tongues to triumph, as they creep
Nigh to the city's gates, which guilty sleep
Stills to false slumbers in its destined hour.
Now gibe they cast, and scoff, and blasphemy
On the Divinest Stranger. He doth yield
To rudest violence His harmless Head,
Like a defenceless Lamb to slaughter led,
That He may o'er us cast His sheltering shield,
And from nocturnal terrors set us free.

3.

Thou art thus captive led our hearts to move,
And draw us unto Thee, that we our hands
May yield, and on our necks put Thy love-bands;
For Thy commandments thus as cords may prove
To lead us to that city's gates above,—
That city which is paved with Thy commands,
The gold and agate of celestial lands.
For heaviest chains are render'd light by love;
And therefore art Thou thus all rudely bound,
That we may in our bonds remember Thee;
And Thee remembering, ever may be found
Thy willing captives rather than be free
With the bad world—the fuller to abound
In Thy blest gift of heavenly liberty.

4.

O wonderful fulfilment! is this He
Who comes down to announce th' eternal year
Of our release, to liberate from fear,
To ope the gates and set the prisoner free,
And is Himself our very Jubilee;
Yet thus, as some bruised Captive doth appear,
As one weighed by oppression most severe,
And needing all the power of liberty!
Thus He Himself, O wondrous sight! is found
With darkness and with chains encompass'd round,
Who comes to pour the light on blinded eyes.
Yet thus it is He brings to earth the skies,
That wheresoe'er a prisoner now remains
He may be with him in his silent chains.

5.

Yes, in the eyes of false-discerning men
A helpless captive, but meanwhile His own,
To Whom th' Almighty Father hath made known
The mysteries of things that are unseen,
Beholding Him with undisturbéd ken
Discern their God, come down from His high throne
To teach us one great lesson—one alone—
“Learn thou of Me, for I am meek,” and then
Thou shalt, 'mid troubles, find thy spirit's rest.
Think of no other freedom but the mind
To her deservings patiently resign'd:
And thou shalt find His Godhead manifest,
Until the weight of sorrows makes thee blest,
Injurious provocations render kind.

6.

And yet while I do thus in bonds behold
My Maker and my Judge all lowly bent,
And see in Him the Great Omnipotent,
Thus bowed to bring us back unto the fold,
My sorrow is unmov'd, my heart is cold,—
No stern repentance hath my bosom rent;
My tears long since are dried, my feelings spent,
As at a tale of this world often told.
But if I grieve at this my want of grief,
Thou wilt unto those sorrows bring relief
Which are from want of sorrow, and again
Kindle within my heart that living pain,—
Yearnings of penitential sad belief,
Which ever on my spirit may remain.

VI. THE HOUSE OF ANNAS.

1.

And now to make Thy bondage more secure,
They take Thee in triumphant mockery
Unto the house of Annas, standing by,
Bandying from place to place with hands impure,
To render condemnation doubly sure,
Far from all human help, and heap on high
The gathering load of that night's misery.
Yet Thou didst willingly those chains endure
Upon Thy spotless Body in Thy love,
If only Thou might'st so our ransom prove,
When we before the accuser shall be brought,
Silent as criminals, and pleading nought
But the great ransom Thou for us hast wrought,
And the returns of love which in us move.

2.

For love of Thee is our true liberty;
And when we rightly love Thee and adore,
Thy law is then captivity no more,
But gladsome service most divinely free,
In perfect freedom, like the ministry
Of those in Heaven who are for ever bound
By blissful adoration most profound,
And know no other joy but serving Thee.
For then their freedom is indeed divine,
When doing their own will they follow Thine.
Thus Thy law is no bondage when within
Is love that giveth life; chains wrought by sin
Then vanish as the ice before the sun,
And full of glowing life the waters run.

3.

But more and more those iron bonds increase,
When, setting Thy commandments all at nought,
In the imaginings of our own thought
We follow our own will, nor seek release.
Then if upbraidings of Thy Spirit cease,
'Tis that those fetters grow into the soul,
Part of ourselves, infect our being whole;
Those chains become ourselves—we are at peace.
Then by those bonds which Thou for us didst wear,
And by the blows which Thou for us didst bear—
When as some blood-stain'd, night-caught criminal
Within that house of bondage set in thrall,
Before that Pharaoh our Redemption stood,—
Save me from that Egyptian servitude.

4.

Thy law hath bound me with a living band,
And in the dead of night, when all is still,
E'en like a thief, with footsteps dark and chill,
The great accuser shall before me stand,
And lift against me the upbraiding hand
In presence of the Judge; then vain the skill
That ever waits upon the tortuous will,
With ready self-deceivings at command,
To extricate, excuse, and to explain.
Nay, 'tis our will itself which is the chain
That binds us hand and foot, and doth remain
Drawing us, while we think not, to the gloom,
Till bondage doth itself become our home,
And thwarted will our everlasting doom.

5.

I gaze, and gazing tremble at the sight,
To see Thee, Who dost sit at God's right hand,
Bound by an impious rabble, thus to stand
Before Thy creature! Yet 'twas Thou this night,
In love and lowliness most infinite,
Didst kneel, to teach us this, love's last command,
And therefore now to Thee compulsion's band,
So grievous, is for our sakes sweet and light.
O strange fulfilment of the truths enroll'd
In scrolls of Prophets, and set forth of old
Through imaged types and shadows manifold!
Now these are set apart. Thyself I see
The mirror made of perfect liberty,
Thyself the living Type that teachest me.

6.

What is the lesson which these sights impart?
That there are bonds to man invisible
Framéd in Heaven, which have a mighty spell
To hold by secret influential art
Him Who was God and Man,—to bind the heart
With meek obedience, such as none can tell;—
Those chains are love—are love invincible,
Which from God's Altar suffer not to start,
Stronger than death, the love of wretched men.
Love was the bond that bound Thee from above,
Submissive e'en to death; oh, wilt Thou then
But kindle in our hearts this, Thine own love,
That it an adamantine chain may prove,
Nor suffer us from Thee to fall again.

VII. THE FALL OF S. PETER.

1.

High in the dim recess of that dark hall
The midnight conclave now before me pass,
Gathering around the impious Caiaphas.
Our God, Whose Word upholds this worldly ball,
Whose Presence doth Angelic hosts appal,
Stands bound; and now the rude insulting mass
Press on Him! Now, O dreadful sight, alas!
The uplifted hand of the rough menial
Strikes on the Mouth Divine that meekly spoke
(The healéd slave from Edom gave the stroke),
The hand against its Maker! Now I see
Earnest appeals, judicial mockery,
And gratulations at successful ill,
While lights more dim the noisy conclave fill.

2.

Now in that corner of the vaulted dome
One soul of evil all the hearts doth stir;
They jeer and beat the holy Prisoner,
With mockeries and jests around Him come,
Mantling in scorn that Face which doth illume
The Heaven of Heavens. Now one pollutes His ear,
Another with injurious blows draws near.
But there is that which to His heart comes home
With sorer bitterness than jests so rude
And impious blows of that fierce multitude:
Amid the vassal courts and hall below
The dearly lovéd of His soul e'en now,
His own most dearly lovéd, hath forgot
His Master's very Name—he knows Him not.

3.

How terrible the night that broods around,
That we should e'er forget our Present God!
They who with Him the ways of sorrow trod,
Have been with Him in Tabor, and abound
With signs of love, with countless favours crown'd,
With whom He hath ta'en up His own abode,
Who companied with Him along the road,
And with Him were in season more profound;
They who had all things for His sake resign'd—
Home, friends, and calling—for a martyr's wreath,
And boast of faithfulness to chains and death,
In high resolves and protestations blind,—
When they forget to pray, one little breath
Blows all away, like leaves before the wind.

4.

Like some frail reed, which in the pale moonlight
Bows down, then broken hangs upon the ground;
Like some ice-scene with golden sunbeams crown'd,
Which vanishes before mid-day grows bright;
Or like the sea, so beautiful to sight,
Basking in sunlight, till a cloud profound
Doth all the glittering scene with gloom surround;
Or when the autumnal frost of one brief night
Strips some fair tree, and leaves it bleak and bare,
Robb'd of a whole year's pride and leafy state;
Or when upon a full-orb'd summer noon
Comes in eclipse the intervening moon;—
So our best feelings cherish'd long and fair
One hour of darkness may lay desolate.

5.

And who shall stand the trial when the rock
Is shaken? We whose strongest purposes
Are but as webs to catch the summer flies,
Which the bat's wing beats down, the owlets mock,
Or light as gossamers that hold the flock
Of stationary sunbeams, which the breeze
Plays with,—yes, we that float our flags at ease
And softness, what shall we do in the shock,
When principalities have on us broke
In their own hour of darkness—what shall we?
Lord, let us not Thy Hand in that dark day
Forego, nor midnight Voice which calls to pray;—
So when the storm shivers the forest oak,
May we our poor frail branches hand on Thee.

6.

Oft since that hour until the end e'en now,
While in the raised-apart and sacred shrine
The dread memorials of His Love Divine
Are offered up for us, there is below
One who hath ventured to His courts to go,
In whom His Omnipresent Eye descries,
A heart that secretly his Lord denies,
In self-deceiving thoughts and fears that bow
Before the multitude; who hears God's law,
While influences of men with present awe
O'erwhelm him; and content to be as they,
Forgets the lesson which the Garden taught,
And higher stern resolves before him brought,
Nor schools his heart aright to watch and pray.

VIII. THE PENITENT RESTORED.

1.

In holy silence most adorable
Stands the meek Lamb of God, and not a sound
Escapes His lips in sacred sorrow bound,
“With grief acquainted.” What though words may tell
Of pains and griefs which at death's portal dwell,
Yet who shall speak the secret flowing wound
When love itself in hour of need is found
Unfaithful?—in the heart unspeakable
Dwells the unstaunchéd wound and bleeds within,
Deep in the soul that lean'd on its own love.
E'en so Thy Spirit did Thy Prophets move
Whene'er Thy chosen children in their sin
Deny Thee;—ever grieving through all times
“The Man of Sorrows” o'er His children's crimes.

2.

Lord, are we in that tender heart so near
And dear to Thee? Thou knowest long before
Our very thoughts; our words are counted o'er
Before they rise, and on our tongues made clear
Unto ourselves and others they appear.
For our affections are the very store
That Thou would'st treasure up; and evermore
Close to our countenance Thine Eye and Ear
Is listening for our words, to us unknown.
Oh, let me ne'er amid the wicked stand,
Forgetting vows I made with Thee alone;
But if surrounded by the impious band,
Fill'd with the thoughts of Thy Gethsemane,
Let me forget myself—remember Thee!

3.

Then often from that silence, long conceal'd,
In awe beyond all utterance most keen,
Thine Eye turns on us; Satan then is seen
Departing; all his crafts at once reveal'd,
When he hath gain'd his end, and sin hath seal'd
Our disobedience: then breaks forth between
The love of our dear Lord, which long hath been
Watching, and yet so oft in vain appeal'd
To earnest vow and promise vainly spent.
Then by His rod the smitten rock is rent,
And suddenly the waters pour apace
From the deep hidden fountains of His Grace,
To freshen the dry wilderness within,
Parch'd by the fiery blast that pass'd in sin.

4.

The Rock is smitten, and the water flows,
And ne'er shall cease to flow; but whensoe'er
That warning cock shall reach his wakeful ear,
That Eye again shall meet him 'mid Its woes,
And all that scene anew around him close,—
The midnight hall—the maiden drawing near—
The dread suspense—the agonizing fear—
The scoffer's noise and scorn—and the repose
Of that recalling Eye upon him cast
With tender reminiscence of the past,—
With meek reproving, yet forgiving glance,
Upon him turn'd with speechless utterance,—
Then all afresh, with unabated force,
Open'd the silent flood-gates of remorse.

5.

Whene'er he heard the cock crow Peter wept;
Again to his forgotten Lord he turn'd,
And all anew his old affections burn'd,
And penitential sorrows o'er him crept
With thrilling visions, which, whene'er he slept,
Woke him again to prayer. Oh, lesson learn'd
Not dearly, at whatever cost discern'd!
Oh, should temptation from us intercept
Thy loving Countenance, yet whensoe'er
We turn again, and to Thine Altar flee
From our own sins and from the world, oh, there
Lift on our hearts Thy gracious look Divine,
That we, returning to ourselves and Thee,
May wet with tears the pavement of Thy shrine.

6.

Flow forth, flow forth, ye drops of holy brine,
And wash away the taints which else remain
Indelible in power or guilty pain.
That Eye which doth in pity now incline
Will blend Its tears, and blending give to Thine
A power to wash away the deepest stain,
And turn the bitter brine to healthful rain.
Then from dry ground shall spring the Root Divine;
But when our eyes meet Thine, oh, then no less
Be with us, Lord, sustain us and control,
Lest in that wakening of the sinful soul,
In sense of our bereavement, to the ground
We sink again in sorrow, and be drown'd
E'en in the flood of our own bitterness.

IX. PILATE'S JUDGMENT-HALL.

1.

Lord, if the wicked are “a sword of Thine,”
And princes do not “bear the sword in vain,”
When, as Thy delegates, on earth they reign;
And hearts of kings are in Thy Hand Divine,
Which Thou as streams of water dost incline,
To fertilize, to freshen and sustain,
Or to destroy: then by this patient chain
To which Thou didst in love Thyself resign,
When Thou with downcast eyes and back-bound hand
Before the potentates of earth didst stand;
Teach us beneath the oppressive powers of ill
Thy chastening rod to see, and so be still;—
Loving that Church which bears Thy sign of scorn,
Nor conquers but when she that Cross hath borne.

2.

When for the sins of Thine own Israel
Nebuchadnezzar sits upon the throne,
And holds her in the chains of Babylon,
He with His children in the fires shall dwell
Who now, to human eyes made visible,
Stands before Pilate;—to them shall be known,
Walk with them, and shall claim them for His own.
As here on earth, when conflagrations swell,
Heaven's winds rush down, and are around them brought,
So in the kingdom of Thy grace below,
When fires of persecution round us grow,
Thy Spirit, like a moist and freshening wind,
Comes to be with us in the viewless mind,
With visitations of refreshing thought.

3.

The eagle doth a twofold emblem prove,
The advancing emblem of imperial state,—
The abomination which makes desolate,—
Or soaring gentle as the household dove,
The very image of celestial love,
The Royal sign of the regenerate.
E'en so the kingly Unction from above
Sometimes the inner reins doth penetrate
With the Anointing of the King of kings,
Setting the standard of the Cross therein,
As kingly David when of Saul pursued;
Sometimes for chastening of Thy people's sin,
God's minister of wrath to sight it brings,
As Saul's ambitious hate and fortitude.

4.

But whensoe'er the kings that bear Thy trust,
Thy Cross more dear than their own sceptre hold;
And, 'neath the shining purple and the gold,
Sackcloth put on, and penitential dust:
The world's mysterious hate against the just
Shrinks from that light; allegiance first grows cold,
And then, in ways most strange and manifold,
The many-handed monster in his lust
His multitudinous sides again shall shake,
And cast them to the ground, and there in hate
Their crown and sceptre 'neath his feet shall break;
And therefore Thy true kingdom here below
From Thine own Cross shall ne'er be separate,
But find its strength in that dread sign of woe.

5.

What though His endless reign spreads forth below,
'Tis “as it were in secret” and unknown,
E'en as Himself when friendless and alone,
Before the heathen Pilate thus made low.
His kingdom is the Truth, and they who know
The Truth shall find their way unto His throne,
Entering that City's gates. And He shall own
Their due allegiance. Where He reigns e'en now
On this bad earth His kingdom is true peace,
Order, and harmony, and blessed love,
For ever manifold yet ever one,
One King, one Kingdom; clothéd with the sun,
His kingdom with His knowledge doth increase,
Till both are in fruition lost above.

6.

Thy kingdom is release from death and sin,
From the heartburnings and the fear and strife;
For the Lamb's Blood, which speaks of endless life,
Is on the door by which we enter in,
Beats in the heart when true life doth begin;
Fills all the veins; each grace which there is rife
Speaks of that Blood; the Church is but the Wife
Of the meek Lamb—the Bride His Blood doth win.
'Tis the slain Lamb that sits upon the throne:
Therefore no place is in that kingdom known
For pride's disquiet, and ambition's pains;
It is the Lamb Himself that all sustains;
All there, in all things, at all seasons own
The love and meekness of the Lamb that reigns.

X. CHRIST BEFORE HEROD.

1.

Sent from that heathen judgment-hall of woe,
They now in mockery rude their Victim bring
Before the subtle Galilean king;
While through the streets they hurry to and fro,
Now throng behind, and now before Him go,
In hate successful loud and triumphing;
As some poor death-bound prince, or captive thing,
Forced through Rome's streets before his last death blow;
Or sacrificial beast, amid the throng
To some old heathen altar urged along;
Or as fierce dogs hunt down the gentle hare,
From place to place, loud yelling for its blood;—
The Pharisees their Victim have pursued;
Lo, in the kingly palace, they are there.

2.

Steep'd in the murder'd Baptist's holy blood
Sits the incestuous and adulterous chief,
Well pleased to view the Saviour in His grief,
Hoping to see some miracle of good.
Oh, strange infatuation which withstood
The strivings of the Spirit! Oh, how brief
The day of our salvation and relief,
Ere tenfold night doth on the senses brood,
Close up the eye and ear, and case the heart
In thick-ribbed iron! Pharaoh-like, to see
Signs to the Almighty Presence which belong,
As of some sportive juggler at his art.
And yet himself unscathed to sit among
The lightnings of Incarnate Deity!

3.

Silence most eloquent, beneath the sound
Of earthly things, with current deep and strong,
Doth like a hidden ocean move along;
What silent retributions do abound!
What silent intercessions all around!
Time silent steals, in memory keeps the wrong,
And then puts forth his hand amid the throng.
Our God disown'd, our King with shame is crown'd,
And in that robe is made the scorn of men:
The sun shall see a Herod in his might
Spangled in that same silver robe of light,
And men aloud declare him God, and then
The Angel's hand shall smite his royal form,
Mark'd as the prey of the devouring worm.

4.

Behold the lilies of the vernal field;
For Solomon was ne'er arrayed so bright,
In all his tissued robe of silver light,
As one of these, to thoughtful eyes reveal'd.
The microscope will show their crystal shield,
All studded with fair pearls and chrysolite,
And purple veins that track the virgin white,—
A beauteous world from our gross eyes conceal'd.
That glittering robe of kingly Solomon
By this false Idumean is put on:
But fairer than the glory of the flower
Was Christ's white robe of spotless innocence,
Worn in His bleeding Passion's darkest hour,
Too brilliant for the eye of mortal sense.

5.

Thence the white robes of all-prevailing prayer,
Through all her courts shall to His Church descend,
Multiplied at her shrines unto the end.—
Numberless as the stars on the dark air
Come forth, and the departed sun-light share.
That robe a silent language doth attend,
It speechless intercession seems to wear,
As representing Him Who stood our Friend
Before the king of terrors. At that day,
In plenitude of His Almighty sway,
Whate'er things Him approach'd, hate, jest, or chance,
Put on themselves divine significance;
E'en as the setting sun, of clouds brought nigh,
Makes to himself a glorious pageantry.

6.

By mockery cloth'd in that white garb of scorn
Stood our Great Sacrifice for us to plead,
And to our God in silence intercede,
And solitude; then what if thus forlorn
In all His courts that snowy vest is worn,
Pleading, alas, for them who little heed,
'Mid enemies who know not their great need,
As Christ Himself upon that holy morn.
That lifting up of hands may still avail,
As on the mount apart, when Israel fought,
Moses, sustained by Sacerdotal power,
Outstretch'd his arms in silence, and thence brought
A power to Israel in that destined hour,
With lifting up of hands to win or fail.

XI. PILATE AND HEROD RECONCILED.

1.

Herod and Pilate are made friends to-day,
And Jew and Gentile are together met,
By unseen hands the Corner-stone is set,
Both walls to one are tending now their way;
For evil spirits His behests obey,
And work His will, caught in their own strange net,
While they confederate foes with malice whet
Against incarnate Goodness. Thus they lay
In Sion the chief Corner-stone, with blood
Cemented, and made firm and ratified
By voice of the infatuate multitude.
All are united now with one accord,
All in one headlong purpose are allied
Against the Lord of life, the living Word.

2.

Gentile, and Jew, and Scribe, and Sadducee,
People, and priests, and kings are now made one,
By malice brought to wondrous union,
Mock counterfeit of holy charity;
Such power hath truth divine, that things we see
Catch at its likeness, in its impress run,
Shadows on earth of the celestial sun:
As when in spreading tribes at enmity,
Ishmael, and Edomite, and Hagarene,
Midian, and Amalek, there soon was seen
The “sire of many nations:” swift they sprung
From that great prophecy which yet was young,
Like sands on the sea-shore, in forecast given
Of Christian nations like the stars of heaven.

3.

Thus is the Gospel as a sword on earth,
Kindling division more inveterate
Than in ought else is known of human hate:
Pride, lust, wrath, envy, sadness, impious mirth,
Which in our hearts' dark ruins have their birth,
In ways most manifold and intricate
Combine against the Light, else separate.
Yet Truth the while in its own household hearth
Shines, amid foes its standard onward beareth,
And ne'er but by itself is overcome,
When trampled most, victorious most appeareth,
Outcast and hated through the world to roam,
Seeking in every heart to make its home;
Whatever cannot love the heavenly Guest it feareth.

4.

To Pilate's judgment-hall again returned,
With sorer woes oppress'd, and bearing still
At each remove a heavier weight of ill,
From place to place His love more brightly burn'd,
At each remove His patience was discern'd.
While evil winds turn'd not His steadfast will,
Whose flame burnt upward, but its rising fill,
Till He the length, and breadth, and depth hath learn'd
Of human bitterness. Of ills they pour
Full measure pressèd down and running o'er
Into His bosom, which He doth restore
To them again steep'd in His precious Blood;
While Satan's darts, by patient love withstood,
Are by Him made to work eternal good.

5.

Thus driven from place to place, He makes appeal
From judgment unto judgment in all eyes,
In judgment stands before all enemies,
Crying aloud, each hidden thing reveal,
Bring forth your reasons nothing to conceal,
Let wicked men and spirits now arise,
One Woman-born your enmity defies,
Else on His innocence ye set your seal.
Ye in like manner shall before Him stand,
Each, one by one, stand as a criminal,
And make appeal in the great judgment-hall
Of men and angels; all things now at hand
Shall onward pass to the eternal strand,
Where sentence shall be given upon us all.

6.

Would that to Thee we might be likened now,
So we this persecution should obtain,
And turn obtain'd to our abiding gain;—
From trial-scene to scene we thus might go,
Gaining in each advantage o'er the foe,
So unto us each heaven-descended pain
Might wash away some guilt-contracted stain,
And we our own abasement come to know;
So more and more may learn how to forgive;
And more forgiving, may be more forgiven;
That more forgiven, we the more may love;
And loving more, like That we love may prove;
And liken'd more to Him, in Him may live,
And find in Him the rest which is of Heaven.

XII. CHRIST STRIPPED OF HIS GARMENTS.

1.

O Thou, the Fount of all that's fair and good,
On Whose blest countenance, girt with bright rays,
Adoring angels and archangels gaze,
And drink unspeakable beatitude;—
Before Thy guilty creatures hast Thou stood
Thus covered with dishonour; in rude ways
Reft of that robe which did divinely blaze
On Tabor's heaven-uplifted solitude,
Which with mysterious healing did abound,
When virtue went forth through their skirts around
From That Thy sinless Body, which did wear
The sins of all the world; now stripp'd and bare,
Naked, as erst dishonouring Thy Hand
Adam in paradise did guilty stand.

2.

Long hast Thou striven since our sad parents' fall
To veil our nakedness, and sinful shame
Indelibly imprinted on our frame,
By skins as by a robe funereal,
And offering up of slaughter'd animal,
And more than all by Thine Almighty Name,
As by a shield from self-reproaching blame
Against the Accuser: in man's judgment-hall
Thyself, Who art the God of purity,
Art naked, stripp'd, and desolate—for me;
With virginal pure Flesh all trembling there,
And modest Soul than heaven of heavens more fair,
Shrinking within in speechless agonies,
A gazing-stock and scorn to cruel eyes.

3.

In this Thy nakedness as of the tomb,
By Thine unclothing we are clothed upon;
E'en as Thy dying for us life hath won,
And as Thine exile is to us our home,
So Thine unclothing hath to us become
Our house from heaven. Unhoused, unclothed, undone,
Thou hast our nakedness clothed with the sun
Of Thine Own brightness; as the clouds which roam
Onward, attendant on the sun's white throne,
Are in themselves all mist and gloom forlorn,
Yet clothed in golden radiance not their own
Are made the moving canopies of Heaven,
Hanging in wreaths around the face of morn,
Or beauteous imagery which is at even.

4.

So deeply in our spirits hidden lieth
The consciousness of this our nakedness,
Our guilty souls from Heaven's light shrink no less
Than do our bodies; when the eye would press
Home to its covert, inwardly it sigheth
At thought of its own nakedness, and crieth
To Him alone that knoweth her distress;
And when her conscious shame the Accuser trieth,
Can only in His sheltering Bosom hide.
The appliances which from the world we borrow
Are but the ministrations of our pride,
To find some hiding-place, and there abide:
But the great Judgment, with an endless sorrow,
Such coverings from the soul shall strip to-morrow.

5.

Thou hadst no sin, but didst in pity take
The tenderness of those meek souls serene
That on all brotherly compassions lean,
And when those sympathies of friends forsake,
Soul-stricken feel, as if the heart would break:
Such love, when by the rude world it is seen,
Is deem'd all weakness, though its griefs have been
Not for itself, but for its brethren's sake.
Through Psalms and Prophets thus, like the meek Dove,
His Spirit doth a mourner's heart express,
With images akin to human love.
And thus the Lord descending from above,
Clothed Himself with all human tenderness,
That so His Shadow might our weakness bless.

6.

All this for me, that by Thy mercy shriven
I might in soul and body be made whole,
That I might open my sin-festering soul
Before him unto whom Thy power is given
To bind and loose, and bear the keys of Heaven,
Back to its source the gather'd load to roll;
The soul by running leprosies made foul
To reinstate at pardon-gate, thence driven;
Though face-confusion waits on us before
One eye, and that in mercy: one pale star
Sits in the twilight at the evening door,
Whose blush precedes the darkness; better far
Than in the Judgment to unnumber'd eyes,
And the whole court of the assembled skies.

XIII. CHRIST SCOURGED.

1.

My Lord and God, I see Thee standing bare,
Reft of Thy robes, and shuddering at the sight
Of executioners, that try their might
In mock essays, and rods and cords prepare.
And now the lictor band are entering there;
The morning throws askant her cold grey light,
But more and more the while a tenfold night
Possession takes of that dread theatre;
For Thou, who art the Sun of Righteousness,
Withdrawest all Thy beams—in sore distress;
As wanton soldiery are closing round,
And evil spirits have their senses drowned
In cruelty;—while, to the pillar bound,
Thou wait'st the stroke in shivering nakedness.

2.

Such is the offering of Thyself, that we
May willingly embrace the healing scourge,
While the rude world mocks at the thoughts that urge
To chastening laws of self-severity.
But what is all this sorrow poured on Thee?
Not that our flesh may from this gloom emerge
In pamper'd ease; but when she strives to purge
In-dwelling sins by their due penalty,
Or takes the scourging of a Father's Hand,
She may remember that on Thee were laid
Her heavy burdens, and rejoice when made
Like unto Thee, Who thus didst trembling stand,—
May learn there is no health but in the rod
Which hath been borne by our own pitying God.

3.

The scene of blood comes thickening on that morn,
And now of the loud scourge I hear the sound
Redoubled, and I see the reddening wound,—
Wound upon wound,—His tender back is torn,
Flower of all human flesh—the Sinless born;
The Lily of the Vales that loved the ground,
Shrinking from view profane, and spotless found;
Now lifted like the rose upon the thorn,
Which hangs its head beneath the stormy shower;
And ere it sheds in death its dripping leaves,
One purple petal, as it earthward grieves,
Falls wet with dew from the o'erloaded flower:
So from Thy Body, mingling with Thy tears,
Drops Thy life's-blood, and on the stone appears.

4.

Thus the Almighty God is prostrate bent
Beneath the unpitying scourge and soldier throng,
Yielding those Hands to the fast binding thong,
Which moulded the o'er-hanging firmament;—
A fainting Victim with sore anguish spent.
Thus till the day of doom He comes among
His children's thoughtless ways of mirth or wrong,
Bearing the burden of our punishment,—
Comes in some attitude of speechless throes
Upon our joys and sorrows to attend;
Teaching us what alone His Spirit knows,
Our state, our origin, our being's end;
While thus our true and everlasting Friend
Pleads with us in the silence of His woes.

5.

This from our penal stripes is the reprieve,
In this oblation they are sanctified;
The Father reconciled henceforth shall hide
Within His tabernacle those that grieve:
And the almighty Comforter shall cleave
To those in suffering unto Him allied:
That they beneath this shadow may abide,
He scourgeth every son He doth receive.
In this bad world with leprous taint o'ercast,
Which to its own corruption fades so fast,
Nothing in the All-seeing Eyes is good,
Save as the mirror of the Eternal Son,
When therein is beheld what He hath won,
In images of His atoning Blood.

6.

Thy sorrows were one cloud of black amaze,
Unmitigated gloom due to our sin;
But unto us an angel face comes in,
And still with solitary sweetness stays,
Pleading to tender sympathies within
For Thee and for Thy sorrows, while we gaze,
Amid the gathering storm; as fain to win
From recklessness of our too mirthful days
To love Thy sorrows, and to be with Thee,
Rather than in the world. Thus unto me
A star comes out beyond the stormy sky
That wrapt Thee round; to us Thy Blood is Wine,
Thy griefs our hope, Thy dying Life divine,
Refreshment in Thine anguish-drooping Eye.

XIV. THE CROWN OF THORNS.

1.

“What is His crime? One to a kingdom born!
Come, let us make a glorious diadem,
At every point shall be a living gem,
We with His own tiara will adorn,
And, circled with the radiance of the morn,
Show thee thy King, thou proud Jerusalem!
His bleeding temples shall supply the stem
With rubies, and its rays the twisted thorn.”
O hell-born skill of fierce imperial Rome,
Well might they deem thee from the very womb
Nurtured by savage beast amid the wild;
With blood of all the nations now defiled;
Henceforth thyself shalt thine own Cæsars own,
And know and feel thyself the thorny crown.

2.

But clothe Him first!—no more those garments mean,—
Bring forth the purple for the kingly gown,
Such as may best become the imperial crown
And well be suited to the royal mien;
The mirror wherein best His state is seen.
Zion, go forth thy promised King to own!
Thou hast for Him prepared this regal throne;
For thee He now is scourged; for thee this scene,
This day of His espousals is for thee—
The Bride which He hath cherished now so long.
“Thy Maker is thy Husband,” and to plead
More powerfully with thee He bears this wrong,—
The diadem that burns around His Head,
And robe that speaks, but mocks at, majesty.

3.

O types of suffering and of sovereignty,—
The scarlet robe, a crown that makes to bleed!
And for a sceptre add the hollow reed
Of scorn and weakness;—then they bend the knee,
And bow to Him in mock humility:
While one hath seized in sport the sceptred weed,
And with it strikes upon His crownéd Head
(Oh, art refined in murderous cruelty!)
Driving the thorns more deeply; while e'en now—
O blindness terrible!—around that Brow
Of unseen Godhead, on Whose smile or frown
Bliss everlasting hangs or endless woe,
The Blood bursts forth beneath the thorny crown,
And to His purple garment trickles down.

4.

The King of Martyrs thus, with His own band
Dyed in their blood around His Kingly seat,
And sufferers hallowed by the Paraclete,
Against the evil world hath ta'en His stand.
For man's own sake and benefit, the land
Sends forth its thorns and briers at his feet,
To furnish unto him his chastenings meet:
Therefore Eternal Wisdom so hath plann'd,
That when the Second Man shall ope the door
Of pardon, and mankind with power divine
Through sorrow and atonement shall restore,
He of man's woes shall expiation make,
Shall seize of sin the very scourge and sign,
And for the emblem of His kingdom take.

5.

We bear not on our brows a ray divine
Caught from Thy glory, nor one glowing gem,
Nor the bright star of honoured Bethlehem,
But Thine own Cross impress'd—Thy Father's sign.
In adoration when our knees incline
To Thee our King, of David's royal stem,
We see Thee not with throne and diadem;
But on the Cross in anguish, there to pine.
So deep-polluted had become Thy Bride,
That Thou for love, to woo her to Thy side,
These “foul and filthy” garments didst put on,—
Thyself abasing that she might be won,
And in Thy Father's house with Thee abide,
Clothed with the robe of the Eternal Son.

6.

In the fair autumn of the year's decline
When quiet stars come forth at evensong,
There doth a something to the skies belong
That speaks of roseate light which is divine;
When the sun sinks into his western shrine.
Leaving on even-gate a blood-like stain,
As on the door the paschal victim slain.
Those tints of light that blend with purple wine,
Which the sun leaves behind, portend a morn
Of glorious promise, quiet skies serene;
And even now, in its decline new-born,
The nascent moon with all her stars is seen.
Thus as our Sun goes down in His own Blood,
Comes forth His Church with her bright multitude.

XV. “BEHOLD THE MAN!”

1.

Who cometh with His garments dyed in blood
From Edom and from Bozrah? Who is able
From death and hell,—which unassailable,
With walls defying heaven so long have stood,—
To save? In His own wondrous solitude
He comes, beyond all lore or ancient fable,
In His strength travelling unapproachable.
The flesh cannot discern the Only Good,
Apparell'd thus in His own conquest day.
Yea, 'mong themselves the very angels say,
“Lo, who is this that cometh? Who is He
Whose Name is Secret?” They who shall attend
His conquering march, shall answer to the end,
“To know that Name is immortality.”

2.

By Judas led to Annas; then sent round
From Annas to blaspheming Caiaphas;
From Caiaphas to Pilate; then led bound
From Pilate to Herodian Antipas;
And thence again to Pilate; then disown'd
By Pharisees and people, scourged and crown'd:
Then rise the voices of the infuriate mass—
Give us not this Man, give us Barabbas!
With one great voice of that fierce multitude
'Twas Satan who aloud call'd for His blood,—
As if the lion of the forest brayed
After his prey, beholding Him betrayed;
And then as beaten, mock'd, and under ban,
Pilate brings forth, and says, “Behold the Man!”

3.

“Behold the Man!” the Gentile says full well:
The garment, and the crowning, and the rod,—
With suffering crown'd, humiliation shod,—
Man by His woes in meekness visible;
The “Man of Sorrows!” Who the wounds shall tell
Of Him Who hath alone the wine-press trod?
But loudly cries astonish'd Israel,
He made Himself to be the Son of God:
Therefore both Man and God: the Man behold
In burning characters writ on His brow,
His very Manhood there by woe impress'd.
Behold your God! e'en Zion hath confess'd
What to the winds His words and deeds have told,
Behold your God, for healing or for woe!

4.

The fire of Godhead filled the thorny blaze,
Which in that mansion unconsuming burn'd,
Like the moon in a cloud, when Moses turn'd,
With awe adoring on the sight to gaze,—
Unharming incommunicable rays.
Thus Godhead in the Manhood was discern'd,
Which made the flesh Its home; and thence hath learn'd
The thorny bed of anguish and amaze.
And such the token, when with might divine
The Everlasting would His people call
Through the Red Sea, from the Egyptian thrall,
With them within the wilderness to plead;
Again enshrined in fire-illumined sign,
Onward to unseen Canaan did He lead.

5.

The eye swift glances, yet in passing by
Takes to itself whate'er it may behold,
Whether the face and form of human mould,
Or boundless spreading sea, or summer sky,
With all the stretch of their immensity.
And they who look beneath the eyelid's fold,
See the enamell'd mirror there enroll'd,
Lurking unknown beneath the unconscious eye.
And thus upon this picture would I gaze,
That while my solemn thought the scene portrays,
The soul within her may the impress keep,
In prayer and meditation lodging deep;
That when the Eye of God may look thereon,
He may discern the Image of His Son.

6.

Hues fair as those which evening skies illume
Lie hidden in the seed, till, fed with dew
And foster'd by sunbeams, they come to view.
Lock'd once in treasury of that dark tomb,
Wherein they buried lay as in the womb;
Now in fresh being, beautiful and new,
They hang above the spot from whence they grew.
Thus martyr-souls, from the o'erwhelming gloom
Which wrapt awhile their awful going hence,
In pity beyond human utterance,
May now in tearful beauty hang their head,
'Mid graces which are heavenly, yet of earth.
For from the grave where sorrow made her bed
Are all the virtues of our second birth.

XVI. CHRIST CONDEMNED.

1.

When kings are by their subjects doom'd to die,
All Christian hearts strange horror doth appal,
And boding expectations on them fall
Of some unwonted and dire tragedy,—
Embodied evil seems itself so nigh.
And when the martyrs in man's judgment-hall
Under decree of death are given in thrall,
Our souls are touched by a strange sympathy,
Beyond expression of the outer sense;
Though these be heirs of sin and death, yet thence
In these emotions of man's heart is shown
Something more deep than to himself is known,
Which witness bears to God's Anointed One,—
A King condemn'd in perfect innocence.

2.

From sentence pass'd on Adam's sinful brood,
To that last Judgment whither all things tend,—
Midway between man's origin and end,
This condemnation of our God hath stood;
Nay, rather doth, in mourning attitude,
From end to end its outstretch'd shade extend.
And whosoe'er would rightly comprehend
This mortal being, capable of good,
In that dear shadow sees mankind, and 'neath
The coming on of what is after death,—
Those vast realities of which to hear,
Man's soul unto its centre shakes with fear,—
Thus daily shall himself regard, and prove
The depth of that great truth—that God is Love.

3.

In all things that portend this world's decease,
As the quick fall of all that is therein,
And death's dark rangers, whose broad net doth win
By subtle sure instalments,—as Disease,
Winter, Decay, and Sorrow,—in all these
We read Thy condemnation, and our sin,—
Our sin which went so fast when once let in
That it could never rest in its increase,
Until this height of heights it had attain'd
Which could no further go, but reach'd the skies.
Then in the strife Thy Love the conquest gain'd,
Which, like a mantle, from the All-seeing Eyes
Strove our exceeding sinfulness to hide,
And by humility to slay our pride.

4.

Each day he lives is man condemn'd to die,
By One Who sits within the Judgment-hall
Rais'd in the heart of every criminal,
Whose righteous sentence no one can put by:
And then the stern decree to ratify,
Sleep still returns in night's o'ershadowing pall,
And sets death's stamp and image on us all.
To this Thy condemnation would I fly,
That self-condemn'd, while o'er myself I grieve,
I may in this, Thy dying, find reprieve:
But as Thou in Thy love, in this our stead,
As one with guilt oppress'd dost hang Thy Head,
I would put on my own mortality
By dying to myself, and live to Thee.

5.

If this the mirror be of things on earth,—
All men with one consent against Thee stirr'd,
And e'en Barabbas unto Thee preferr'd,—
Then let me not in seriousness or mirth
Grieve to be set aside as nothing worth,
Another listen'd to, admired, and heard.
Such are occasions upon me conferr'd,
Whereby I may attest my better birth:
This is the daily dying I must love;
In Thee my lineage thus, and portion prove:
While I in my own breast my sentence bear,
Self-judging, self-condemn'd. Then why should I
Chafe at my prison-house, if thus to die
Is in Thy righteousness to have a share?

6.

But Self must first be kill'd by penitence,
And buried in the grave of healthful sorrow:
The suns that harbinger a golden morrow
Blend with the hues of blood, and goings hence
In darkness, and soft tears which clouds dispense.
'Tis only thus our sinful selves undoing
That aught in us is bred which finds renewing,
And may partake in Christ's Own innocence.
The seed must disappear in wintry bed
Ere it in the full harvest lifts its head,
When He Who bears the sickle shall descend,
Sitting on a white cloud. O wondrous end!
When Pharisee and Pilate, we and they
Before their Criminal stand on that day!

XVII. PILATE WASHING HIS HANDS.

1.

But e'en the Governor, arrayed in might,
Is moved within by an unwonted fear,
Trembling before his lowly Prisoner;
A soldier used to every murderous sight,
The very heathen, in his own despite,
Feels judgment greater than his own is near,—
The judge doth like the guilty one appear;
The Roman quails before an Israelite:
I deem that fable strong in mystery,
That lions of the forest will pass by,
Cowering at sight of virgin purity;
And thus the world, e'en in her fiercest mood,
By envy onward urged to deeds of blood,
Still trembles while it persecutes the good.

2.

Many would wash their hands from Thy dear Blood
With Pilate, unabsolved by self within;
The accuser sits behind them, and therein
Mocks them in doing ill with thoughts of good,
Leaving the hollow front of fortitude
To cover craven spirits he would win.
And what avails the loud-tongued multitude
Against that still small Voice which speaks of sin?
The earthquake and the thunder are soon gone,
And that dread whisper then will plead alone:
Nor can the breath of crowds, more guilty still,
E'er chase away, like a fresh-blowing wind,
The noxious vapours it hath left behind,
Or rectify the sin-perverted will.

3.

Thou, Lord, must bring Thyself the absolving stream;
Thyself alone canst wash away the stain;
The streams of Paradise would flow in vain—
In vain a sea of tears on the sad theme;
In vain would costly sacrifice redeem
One guilty spot;—yea, this release to gain,
Hath all creation groaned so long in pain,
Striving, as if in some guilt-haunted dream,
To cleanse the stain; the ingrain'd spot remains:
For this hath Superstition raised her shrines,
And 'mid her countless victims inly pines.
One drop of Thy dear Blood is more than all;
Thy word of power, that bursts death's prison-chains,
Alone can cleanse the will, lost power recall.

4.

First the all-trembling consciousness of ill
Deems earth and heaven have eyes, and the sick mind
Would fain herself unbosom to the wind,
But shame-struck back recoils; then soon the will,
With Satan's cords yet more and more entwined,
Adds to the load, and leaves her labouring still;
Till to the headlong stream at length resigned,
She hastes of crime the measure to fulfil,
In recklessness of conscience ill at ease.
But blessèd they to whom 'tis timely given
At God's own mercy-seat to seek release,
And find a refuge in the absolving keys,
Which ope heaven's door, pour in celestial air,
And lead anew to penitential care.

5.

Thus have I known, when on a sultry noon,
Beneath the vapour-loaded atmosphere,
All creatures hung their head, like guilty fear;
Nature breathed thick and faint, and out of tune;
Big drops descended one by one, and soon,
As with a momentary quick surprise,
Around, far brighter than the autumnal moon,
The vivid lightnings bathed the o'erhanging skies,
The clouds unlock'd the fountains of their tears,
The heavens expanded; then released from fears,
Earth looks up for renewal of their love;
The trees with all their little leaves rejoice;
The mountains and the valleys find a voice;
One multitudinous song fills all the grove.

6.

Oh, peaceful calm of guilt and doom repealed,
As when before the priest the leper stood
With ulcerous contagions all subdued,
And to the faithful eye in hope revealed:
Then the meek dove pronounced the leper healed,
Slain o'er the running stream,—the stream of blood
Went down to Jordan's blest Baptismal flood:
He from his sickness cleansed, and freedom sealed,
Walked in the Holy City once again.
Thus when the golden keys retrieve the stain,
What if the mingled stream of blood and tears
Flows to the Baptism of our earlier years;
And the regenerate soul, by sin defiled,
Come from the stream again a healthful child.

XVIII. CHRIST BEARING THE CROSS.

1.

The way of sorrows and this burden sore
Are of Thy life the sad epitome,
Wherein a weight of sorrows hung on Thee,
With Thine eyes on us fixed for evermore,
That we may rest our hearts on Thee before,
And gazing on Thee in Thy way of grief,
May from our very sorrows find relief,
Till hardship be to us hardship no more;
That Thou, by Thine abasement and deep loss,
May'st clothe us with Thy Godhead by Thy Cross.
So may our heart of hearts of Thee partake,
Till sorrow becomes welcome for Thy sake,
And e'en our punishment becomes our rest,
Exalted more, the more we are oppress'd.

2.

Thy sanctifying Shadow rests on these,
Therefore below do shame and sorrow prove
Within illumined by Almighty love,
And minister to gentle influences,
Which hide themselves in shade from human eyes.
Sweet scents and songs haunt lowly field and grove,
From birds on streamlet banks, and woodland dove;
While mountain heights, bare in the summer skies,
Shake from their haughty necks the genial rain,
Of kites and birds of prey the wild domain.
'Tis like frail man to love to walk on high,
But to be lowly is to be as God;
It is to drink the wine-press He hath trod,
Replete with strength and immortality.

3.

Oh, wondrous warning to our pride and mirth,
Our God and King in infamy and pain!
And he that runs may read this lesson plain,
That They Who know of things the eternal worth
Mark this as man's best portion here on earth,—
The wisdom of our God, though man's disdain,—
That thus to suffer with Him is to reign;
His kingdom hath in man no other birth.
Our God in sorrows; O heart-thrilling voice!
O Truth, in characters of blood anneal'd!
By words, by sighs, by His example seal'd,
Who made the lowest place His earnest choice:
Once only His meek Spirit did rejoice,
That this His Wisdom was to babes reveal'd.

4.

Oh, may we with an ever-deepening fear
Gaze on these sorrows, where Thy Form is found
With one Hand leaning on the bleeding ground—
One Hand that heavy burden strives to bear!
Thus may we to that awful cup draw near
Thou had'st to drink amid that multitude,—
Draw near, and look into that cup of Blood,
And see our very selves reflected there.
We too must of a cup of sorrow drink;
Our destined road is called “the vale of tears,”
Where we must bear our cross in human fears
And sorrows, and to earth in silence sink.
Each branch put forth in weakness must disclose
An image of the Tree on which it grows.

5.

Each branch that is disclosed as it expands
Sets forth the Cross, each tendril that anew
Is found thereon still hastes to bring to view
Another and another; as it stands,
Each shows the Cross with its outstretching hands,
Which seize their branching hold, celestial dew
Imbibing, and the soft ethereal blue;
Such is the Vine of Salem in all lands.
Each day, that hath in Christ its better birth,
Must bear its Cross; without that destined load
'Tis a day lost on the once traversed road
To that eternity which springs from time;
It hath no tendrils that may upward climb
Into the infinite, but falls to earth.

6.

Lord, can it be that we, of feeble frame,
By taking Thine own burden make it less,
And share the weights that on Thy shoulders press?
As he who to the Holy City came,
Meeting Thee in that hour of Thy distress,
And followed,—for “obedience” was his name,—
Bearing Thy Cross for Thee; so dost Thou bless
Obedience, and to Thee dost draw the same,
When penitential thoughts within us burn.
Yea, if so dear to Thee our love's return,
That they who see Thy Face at this rejoice,
Reading therein the Eternal Mind and Voice;
They and their love were present to Thee now,
Like a refreshing breeze on Thy faint Brow.

XIX. THE MOURNING WOMEN.

1.

How many tears since that portentous morn
Have been by pilgrims shed in that dear spot,—
The way of sorrows, or in hallowed grot,
Amid as now the unbeliever's scorn,
Or at Gethsemane, and altars worn
By kneeling worshippers, or on the height
Of Calvary, or e'en at distant sight
Of Salem on her mountain-seat forlorn!
Lest sin should be forgotten 'mid those tears,
When tenderness intense hath wrapt the soul
Of way-worn pilgrim, hath the stern appeal
Of these Thy words, with a Divine control
Himself unto himself served to reveal,
And oped repentance on forgotten years.

2.

And not alone on Sion's holy ground
Do these, Thy warning words, knock at the gate
Of Conscience, with self-mourning and self-hate,
But wheresoe'er the feeling soul is found,
Which, half-forgetful of her own deep wound,
Weeps at her Saviour's ills compassionate,
But to her own true sorrows wakes too late,
Or too remissly. When the day comes round,
Each year or week which doth Thy woes present,
Or hour which daily marks Thine agonies,
So oft upon the soul Thine uprais'd eyes
Are turned,—and these Thy words of sorrow call,
“Weep not for Me, but your own sins lament,
Beneath whose weight unto the ground I fall.”

3.

Weep not for Me,—for thine own children mourn,
The offspring of thy bowels, evil deeds,
And evil thought, which from the heart proceeds;
These are the stripes by which My Flesh is torn;
These plant upon My Brows the twisted thorn,
That as I sink and fall the pavement bleeds.
For thee I weep,—for thy transcendent needs
When on the dead dry tree the fire is born
Which never more shall perish or decline;
When desolation at thy door appears,
Thy visitation past, thy foes around;
Therefore I bid thee join thy woes with Mine,
While, ere those ever-during flames abound,
They yet may be extinguished by thy tears.

4.

Yea, Nature doth herself the type present
Of penitential sorrow to our eyes,—
Hanging with clouds the beauteous firmament,
Not only 'mid fierce storms to winter lent,
But also in the tranquil summer skies,
Where love itself doth seem to spread his tent
Above us, 'mid those crystal canopies,
Without whose aid on earth each creature dies.
The unclean spirit banished from the blest,
Walks ever through dry places seeking rest;
Where not a tear bedews the barren ground,
But stern impenitence doth aye remain.
He Who His blessed kingdom spreads around—
He walketh on the clouds and giveth rain.

5.

To Thee mine eyes are turned, the hard rock smite,
Grant me Thyself the gracious gift of tears
To wash the wilderness of my past years,
E'en such as Peter wept, woke by Thy light,
Muffling his face in that o'erwhelming night:
Or that loved sinner who 'mid guilty fears,
In love o'erflowing, at Thy feet appears:
Or saintly Magdalene, who in Thy sight
Stood weeping at Thy grave, and thought Thee gone
From her sad eyes; those morning dew-drops shone
In the Sun's beams one moment, then were flown
For ever: or as he for his deep stain
Wept tears which in his Sion still remain,
To crystal turned in penitential strain.

6.

The gifts most gracious which descend from high
Are things that minister to sacred woe,
That we thereby may learn ourselves to know,
Bringing to view the things that had gone by.
Thus distant mountains 'neath the o'erdarken'd sky
Come near us, and distinct their shadows show,
'Neath clouds whose watery treasures drop below,
And voices from afar come floating nigh.
When summer suns grow warm on Cedron's vale,
That brook of sorrows is no longer seen,
The olives on its bank droop sere and pale.
Thus when the world spreads o'er us skies serene,
Forgotten are the thoughts of penitence,
Which from dark heavens their fruitful tears dispense.

XX. THE NAILING TO THE CROSS.

1.

The long and heavy Cross extended lies
In Golgotha, where on the hideous ground
Many a bone and skull is haply found
Unburied; and in holes where once were eyes
Stables some creeping thing, and looks around,
And 'mid the wrecks of human miseries
Bears witness to the worm that never dies
In the soul's burial-place. What if that sound
Comes from the depths of secret Providence,
Which speaks of man's first parent buried there?
Howbeit, in remembrance of that worm
Which raised in Paradise its serpent form,
It seems to mock at his inheritance,
Cradling itself in crime's worst sepulchre.

2.

Himself deceived, the sire of death and lies
Deems not how soon on that sepulchral floor
He this his short-lived triumph shall deplore;
That Golgotha he fills with scornful cries
Is the gate of a better paradise
Which he shall never enter any more,
Of which that cruel wood is now the door.
That Cross he now delights in, to his eyes
Henceforth shall be a thing at which, recoiled,
He to the lowest depths shall sink despoiled,
As lightning falls from heaven; that Cross shall prove
The very sceptre of all-conquering love,
Marked on each brow, and reared the heart within,
A refuge from himself and powers of sin.

3.

Upon the ground extended lies the Rood,
In substance, not in shadow, to that mount
Which the true Isaac bare. Who shall recount
His pains, as 'mid the unpitying multitude
And scornful priests, from His pure virginal Flesh,
Marked with those livid wounds that bleed afresh,
They strip His robe adhesive,—on the wood
They stretch His pallid Body; with His Blood
The One true Priest His Altar doth anoint,
As through His outstretch'd palms the iron point
They drive, and through His feet the piercing wound.
His bones may all be number'd, joint by joint.
The God Who made all creatures, on the ground
Rack'd on the accurséd wood lies prostrate bound!

4.

Such was the dying bed Thou didst sustain,
That mind or body found no place of ease,
While mockery stood by, and fierce disdain:
But us 'mid all our sins, if Thou should'st please
To lay at death's dark portal, while disease
Doth drop by drop our ebbing life-blood drain,
Thou sett'st around us tender offices,
And makest soft with love the bed of pain,
While watchers which about us gently stir
Are taught by Thee; and e'en far more than those,
Thou art Thyself our very Comforter;
From that our pillow of desired repose
Thou tak'st the thorns, and for Thine own dost wear,
Laying Thine Head upon their piercing throes.

5.

Lord, I have gazed upon approaching death,
When things which this our earthly sojourn bless
Seemed as in distance growing less and less.
Nor knew before what love then cherisheth,
Spreading the everlasting Arms beneath,
So terrible in Thy deep tenderness,
Which tears alone in silence can express,
With the faint sinking frame and failing breath.
Then, 'mid the agonies of mortal fear,
When dark eternity knocked at the door,
In utter helplessness and guilty pain
Did Thy absolving keys my soul sustain;
Conscious at that dread hour that Thou wast near,
I felt a blessedness unknown before.

6.

But not so was Thine own departing bed,
When they of Thine acquaintance stood aloof,
Their love in fear forgotten, and reproof
Had broke Thine heart, when in that hour so dread
All was out-poured on Thine unsheltered Head,
Which stood the impetuous storm in our behoof;
When terrors throng'd the sky's o'er-arching roof,
And evil spirits were around Thee shed.
Then as the nails Thy tender hands did strain,
When cruelty sought out each place of pain
So did the sinews of Thine heart give way
Beneath the arrows of the Almighty's wrath,
When Thou didst stand in our descending path
To take on Thee our load in sad dismay.

XXI. THE CROSS LIFTED UP.

1.

And now, with strength combined of murderous hands,
The Cross uplifted Thy pale Frame sustains,
Rooted and fixed with violence, which strains
Thy wounds afresh; and as it upward stands,
Thine own deep wounds themselves are made the bands
That hold Thee on death's bed; with bursting veins
Thy Body hangs upon its own dread pains.
Each way extending, broad as Thy commands,
Deep as Thy judgments, as Thy mercies high,
It stretches forth, and shows with mystic sign
The breadth, and depth, and height of Love Divine,
Which forms ineffably that throne of Thine;
Broad as all space in boundless majesty,
Deeper than hell, and higher than the sky.

2.

Thus He Who is Himself the Eternal Truth
Turns into truth these shadows as they pass,
And makes men's evil deeds to be the glass
To mirror His perfections; for, in sooth,
He works His will alike in weal or ruth.
As shadows that fleet o'er the waving grass
Are but reflections of the cloudy mass
That range the heavens above, and vex or soothe
The summer skies, filling the passive hills
With thunder-falls or spots of dark repose;
E'en so whate'er for final good He wills
In man's free agencies He will disclose;—
Infinite Love! though man, 'neath seeming ills,
Knows not His coming steps, nor where He goes.

3.

And now the lifting-up sets open wide
The gates of agony: thus to fulfil
The accumulated crown of murderous skill.
They who are lifted heavenward, by His side,
Upon their Cross in patience must abide.
Because He willed, He suffered; 'tis the will
That sanctifies the suffering, and sets still
Each thought that to impatience is allied;
'Tis suffering that affords the wond'rous price
To every guilt-atoning sacrifice.
The offerings of Cain were fruits of earth,
Not sanctified by suffering, nothing worth;
But Abel's worthier gift was of the slain,
And dying animals that spoke of pain.

4.

When Thou wast laid on the sin-curséd ground
(Man's hiding-place until the day of doom),
It, sanctified by Thee, became the womb
Of Resurrection. Now, 'mid skies around,
The living Victim to the Altar bound,
'Mid universal nature's dreadful gloom
Thou shedd'st Thy light our darkness to illume;
With patience and with love immortal crowned,
Our Conqueror lifted on Thy throne; and there,
Pursuing through his realms the prince of air;
From soul-destroying vapours and disease
Clearing the foul and poisonous atmosphere;
Henceforth a road for saints to mount the skies,
Full of celestial and sweet influences.

5.

The Cross is lifted up on Calvary's height,
And we thereby are lifted up to Heaven;
Such earth-redeeming power therein is given.
The beasts may earthward bend their lowering sight,
But man doth bear his countenance upright,
That he may gaze upon the Cross and live,
And our affections so may upward strive,
Taking their wing from thence and power of flight
To Heaven. O Form of everlasting fire,
Fed by the anointing of the oil of love,
Be Thou within us, that we never tire,
By stern self-sacrifice sustain'd above;
But still our busy thoughts may upward move,
And ever to their heavenly home aspire.

6.

There is a tale in Eastern fable told
Of a magnetic isle in distant seas,
To which, as barks borne by the heavenly breeze
Approach, in manner strange and manifold,
The iron spars no longer keep their hold,
But part in sunder. Thus when ride at ease,
Knit by a thousand iron purposes,
The full-rigged schemes of worldlings proud and bold,
They loosely walk, as on a summer sea,
Upon their own unfathomed destiny;
But if by timely Providences driven
To Thee, the stable Truth and land of Heaven,
Then all their worldly homes are sunder riven,
And they who seize the Wood are borne to Thee.

XXII. THE CROSS DROPPING BLOOD.

1.

Blood from His Hands is falling, drop by drop,
And from His Temples; now in streams they roll—
Haste downward to the earth as to their goal;
Now hang on His pale Body, and there stop,
Or on the wood below; till from the top
Unto the base the blood-stains mark the whole.
Such is the value of each human soul,
Which doth outweigh the world; and such the crop
Of thorns which Adam sowed in Paradise.
What marvel, then, at sight of such deep woe,
If penitential love should hide her eyes
From all the pleasant things which are below,
In cloistral cells of prayer; nor seek relief
But in each sternest discipline of grief?

2.

For doubtless hence whatever things belong
To shame, and pain, and bodies mortified
To Heavenward aspirations are allied,
With an intercommunion strange and strong.
Love from the ever-present sense of wrong
Finds no repose, save when she can abide
On any image of the Crucified,
Which in herself she finds, her sins among.
For else the Church could nothing do but mourn
With lamentable moans, like one unblest;
But when she finds her cross she upward springs,
Herself forgetting; like the dove forlorn,
When cross-ways she expands her balanced wings
On bosom of the sky she is at rest.

3.

When veins which swell with sensuous low desire
Are emptied and made thin with abstinence,
Thy Blood Divine shall from the heart dispense
To all the frame Its own celestial fire,
Known but in thoughts which upward shall aspire,
Felt not nor seen; but throughout every sense
Send forth the savour of Omnipotence,
To cleanse the will diseased, and to attire
Decaying limbs with immortality;
Which, after they put off the sinful flesh,
With undecaying light shall bloom afresh;
Obedience henceforth lost in love divine,
The body all celestial discipline,
Fillèd with Resurrection and with Thee.

4.

'Tis Thou dispensest the life-giving shower
Through the vine's verdant veins, its hue and shape
Instilling, till there hangs the purple grape,
And we discern the hidden Bridegroom's power
In water changed to wine: or thence that flower
Nurturing to be Thy Passion's portraiture,
In semblance of Thy sorrows to endure;
With hanging thorny crowns, and leaves spread o'er
Like human-fingered palms, which bring to view
Thy pains for us on the accursed Tree.
Thus with Thy Blood as with celestial dew,
The kingdom of the soul Thou dost renew
With fruits and flowers divine, where angels see
Nought but developments which speak of Thee.

5.

So shall Thy Blood become to us new wine,
New wine of God, that maketh glad the heart
Of the meek soul that hath in Thee her part;
And multiplied throughout in every sign,
Thy death our life, Thy memories are a shrine
From evil thoughts. Yea, from ourselves Thou art
Our covering and our refuge. Ne'er to start
Away from this the spirit's rest divine,
Allured by cares or pleasures, love or strife,
To the bad world; but here for this short life,
In Thy dear Blood upon ourselves to gaze,
As in a fountain lit by the sun's rays:
In Thee, the Eternal Mind, ourselves to know—
This is the highest wisdom here below.

6.

Nor wonder that the blood of Very God
In union with our manhood hath such power
To change our being in this life's short hour;
So that, awakened from an earthly clod,
Christ shall lead forth with His Almighty rod
Sons to replenish Heaven; as the fair flower
Springs upward, quickened by the vernal shower,
'Mid foulest elements of mouldering sod,
The refuse of the world; as worms of earth
To fair-winged flies that soar to heaven give birth:
Thus, quickened by His Blood, to life shall move
The spirits which shall dwell with God above,
'Mid things which here offend the delicate sense,
And self-debasing arts of penitence.

XXIII. CHRIST PRAYS FOR HIS ENEMIES.

1.

To love, be loved, and loved to love again,
This, this is human at man's best estate:
To love not loved, with good to antedate
All love; to pour forth good, and thence obtain
Neglect, unthankfulness, and proud disdain;
To yearn in tender love compassionate
O'er enemies that triumph in their hate;
To pray amid the agonies of pain
For stern tormentors: this—this is Divine;
This is the inextinguishable Flame
That from the Cross, as from a central shrine,
Doth quicken all Creation; this above
Writes up the incommunicable Name
In burning characters, That God is Love.

2.

Love amid sufferings seen; oh, wondrous sight!
Unearthly Love, the everlasting Fire,
His Head encircled with the bleeding brier,
Amid His foes with strange unharming might,
Consumes not, but sends forth celestial light,
Feeding on heaped-up ills; thence to aspire,
With ampler volume, higher still and higher
Upward into its native Infinite;
Building upon the woes which men have feared
A ladder whereon saints to Heaven may rise.
By mystic staff brought forth to human eyes,
Thus, feeding on the sacrifice, appeared
Flames from the rock, and as they upward veered,
The angel sought therein his native skies.

3.

What are the pillars that support the skies,
Holding the mirror of heart-cheering blue?
'Tis all-embracing Love that comes to view,
Whose pillars are the prayers of Him Who dies
For good and evil, friends and enemies.
What is the earth, with every form and hue
Through each successive season ever new,
But Love, whose fostering bosom never dries;
Whose adamantine arms are spread beneath,
Sustaining just and unjust until death?
And what are seas majestic as they move,
With moon and stars that sleep upon their breast,
As on the shore they rise, then sink to rest;
What do their mighty throbbings speak but—Love?

4.

But more than all in men of spirit poor,
When sickness or pale fasts the feelings bless,
Love comes to man in her unearthly dress;
Things long since passed, that she shall see no more,
Approach her from the everlasting shore;
And something of a solemn tenderness
The overflowing spirit will oppress.
While of occasions which had once touched sore,
And ministered unkindness, nought remains
But grieving Love, which with unquiet pains,
Fain would undo Hate's sin-engendering stains,
But cannot: inwardly the spirit bleeds,
And for herself and others ceaseless pleads;
While nothing else but prayer can speak her needs.

5.

A little child that folds in love's embrace
One that had harmed it, and forgives the wrong—
Of all things which to earth, sea, sky belong,
This is the fairest; for it finds a place
Within the better kingdom of God's grace,
Filling us with emotions deep and strong,
Which seek a vent in tears or holy song;
And sets to view the Infant Saviour's Face
More than the painter's skill,—the Holy Child
To those that harmed Him more than reconciled,
With meek forgiveness His avenging rod;
Bringing on foes the Presence of their God,
That Presence which is love yet coals of fire,
Melting to penitence the murderer's ire.

6.

Then, Lord, for this Thy Cross and Thy dear sake,
Teach me that hard-earned skill of loving all,
Foes, friends, and good and evil, great and small;
Of all things wherein self doth pleasure take
My being to unclothe, and from me shake
All those impediments and weights that fall
On the up-veering wing, or sounds that call
From behind: thus my steadfast bent to make,
And the undeviating course to choose,
Till all that's mine and mine own self I lose
In everlasting Love; and seen no more:
As birds that fly into the sunlight, till
The eye can no more follow them, o'er hill,
And valley, and deserted silent shore.

XXIV. THE PROMISE OF PARADISE.

1.

Not in the dark meridian firmament
Would we discern our God; not in that cloud,
Nor in that Voice in dying heard aloud,
Which shook creation, and the strong rocks rent;
But in that pitying voice of One half-spent,
Beneath of coming death the silent shroud,
Which prayer of the meek penitent allowed;
And still small answer of the Omnipotent,
Which spoke of endless morn ere day was run,
In Paradise, lit by the eternal Sun.
Oh, that before I die that gentle word
Might come unto my spirit, breathing rest;
Then worlds might part asunder, in my breast
Nothing but that small Voice shall more be heard!

2.

From this Thy Mercy-seat, before all eyes,
Thou stretchest forth Thine arms unto all space,
Inviting all unto Thy love's embrace—
All comprehending as the summer skies,
Which bend to earth with fostering charities.
But upon whom, and in what hour of grace,
Dost Thou lift up Thy beatific Face,
With whispering Voice that speaks of Paradise?
Not on the rich, the many, or the great:
On one alone; on one, in this world's view,
A wretched outcast, scorned and desolate;
Who shares the Cross with Thee and owns it due,
Claiming the King of sorrows as his own,
And 'neath the o'erwhelming cloud discerns His throne.

3.

Oh, might I 'neath that shadow find repose
In the assurèd hope of endless morn,
As all things I behold are westward borne
Unto their setting and the daylight's close!
But while I see Thy Face in dying throes,
A thousand voices call to me to mourn,
And cry aloud within my breast forlorn,
Ah, no! ah, no! thou canst not be as those,
Or as that penitent who, in his pangs,
Upon the bed of death in sorrow hangs!
Oh, faith beyond all faithfulness! when all
Forsook and fled, when e'en Apostles fall,
As death's dark valley they together trod,
He in the Man of Sorrows knows his God.

4.

But in that dreadful secret not to press,
And with no vain presuming confidence
Of what must be at our departure hence,
While sitting at death's portal we confess
The heart-felt sense of our unworthiness
Of aught but pains; then with no vain pretence
The Spirit Which is veiled from outward sense
May in the sight of his own nothingness
Comfort the mourner; for, in very deed,
We know full well the hour of pressing need
Is the time ever chosen for relief,
And prayer hath comfort in the hour of grief;
Such grace hath Baptism unto suffering given;
Yet Love still fears on verge of Hell or Heaven.

5.

The lily, some lone fountain's favoured child,
Holds all aloof from intercourse of earth,
Wherein it has below its secret birth;
But in some watery hollow, free and wild,
Lifts up its virgin whiteness, undefiled,
Suffused with blushes; when the sun grows warm
Stretches its stalk erect, and lifts its form
Above the pool's calm face awhile beguiled;
But when night's shades come on, its air-borne crest
Contracts again, folds up its blooming breast,
And on the watery surface is at rest.
Thus though awhile the spirit proudly shows,
Yet only, when the shades around her close,
On her baptismal waters finds repose.

6.

Yet surely often no enlivening ray
Doth lighten the dark valley at its close,
When busy thought finds no place for repose,
But ever-during dark shuts out the day.
Yea, e'en on pure meek spirits oft dismay
Hangs, and expectance of the penal woes:
In that deep water-flood which o'er them goes,
Of God's dark judgments, none can trace the way.
Yet such are blessed, if thus made at last
Like to the Son of God; and when 'tis past,
Where on the clay-cold features and closed eyes,
Death sits, there cometh forth a glad surprise,
Which says it is “far better,” or in doom
They hear, yet scarce believe, the blessed “Come!”

XXV. THE BLESSED VIRGIN AND S. JOHN.

1.

Not in the glowing centre of all bliss,
But in the sea of overwhelming woe,
Of sorrow beyond sorrows which men know,
The Teacher's chair is set; the dark abyss
Surrounds Him, yet can move no thought amiss,
Or ruffle with impatience His meek Brow,
Calm as the face of summer lake. And now
What is the lesson at death's gate, but this—
The touching lore of filial piety,
With human sweet affections at the close,
Amid the multitude of dying throes?
And these Thy loving words for ever rest,
Like a rose-tingèd cloud on evening sky
That lingers, of the golden rays possessed.

2.

That cloud is soon to fall in tears, when night
Drops on that Mother of all mothers—left
To solitude and stillness, and bereft
Of hope beyond all hope, and guiding light.
The sword is in her soul, and out of sight
Her wounds drop tears of blood, yet every pang
Is known to Him Whose death-pale looks now hang,
In pity and compassions infinite,
Upon His Mother. Mother! blessed name
Of mother nearest to the human heart!
Affection first to come, last to depart!
And He, Who all things hallows to new love,
Shall to His children grant His Church to claim
As Mother, and a filial love to prove.

3.

If such Thy blessing upon filial love,
That it should be the root of love Divine
And semblance, and, matured in hallowed shrine,
Nurtured and fed by dews of Heaven, should prove
Love of a Father Who doth dwell above;—
Itself diffusing in all discipline,
Beneath the fostering of the eternal Dove;—
Then, Lord, how awful was that love of Thine
To her that bore Thee in a virgin's womb,
Upon whose breasts Thine infant yearnings hung,
To whom Thine infant hymns of praise were sung,
Who watched Thy dying, saw Thee in the tomb?
But in compassion to our spirits frail,
All is withdrawn within the silent veil.

4.

And yet e'en filial love Thou hast put by,
In singleness of spirit to sustain
And build the walls of Thine unearthly reign,
Which doth require a nobler piety.
As where the Sun meridian mounts on high,
The shadows pass away from hill and plain,
And nothing but the substance doth remain
Beneath the blue encircling of the sky;
Or as when Day doth his broad pinions shake,
The lantern worms which shone within the brake
Hide, and the lights which heaven's high pathway trod.
So are all lesser duties full of one
Which all fulfils,—the presence of our Sun;
And filial love is lost in love of God.

5.

Wonderful nearness unto God made Man,
“My brother, sister, mother!” thus we see
Strangely fulfilled that other mystery;
To Thy true children, in the eternal plan,
Manifold more vouchsafed for life's short span,
As “brethren, sisters, mothers,” and to be
The pledge of everlasting life with Thee;
Kindred that turn not to the grey and wan,
But Christ our very Brother—gracious gift!
“My earthly Mother I to thee resign,—
My Mother, loved disciple, to be thine;
Thou of thy kindred art for Me bereft,
By Me awhile and by thy brother left:
Yet I am still thy Brother, thou art Mine.”

6.

“Woman, behold thy son!”—him that finds rest
Upon the bosom of Goodness Infinite,
Till truth, and love, and everlasting light,
Were ever on his tongue and in his breast.
Oh, above women she, and he most blest
Of men; though now of all, to human sight,
Most pitiable both, with nought but night
Around their sorrows! with their weight oppress'd,
He takes thee to his home with nursing care.
And yet what home hath he who nothing hath,
Except to share his solitary path,
Bereaved with thee bereaved? yea, 'tis to share
The twofold light of faith amid the gloom,
And in the Will Divine to find a home.

XXVI. CHRIST EXPIRING ON THE CROSS.

1.

With Eyes which now are closed, now ope anew,
As spirits faintly ebb and faintly flow
In dying; with pale Head that now droops low,
Now turns this side, now that, with death's cold dew
Suffused; now faint upraising turns to view,
With prayers that look to Heaven, as some sore woe
Breaks on the languishment of death; and now
The slumbers of the grave press and pursue
Retiring life; while faint, with fevered tongue,
He thirsts,—with heart that burns to do God's will;
He thirsts,—each word prophetic to fulfil:
And thus, with trembling hands, His foes among,
Seizes and holds the cup of bitterness,
To His parched lips the dregs of woe to press.

2.

On sable wings, o'ershadowing the sun's rays,
Death came, as to his own appointed reign,
Where he beheld the torturing beds of pain,
Scenting afar his quarry. With amaze
He back recoils, and upon One doth gaze
Whom he hath had no warrant to detain;
Sinless, and yet with sorrows, his sad train,
Consorting. At the sight he doubting stays,
Till He Who issued from the Virgin's womb,
With voice omnipotent that cried aloud,
Showed Himself, amid nature's awful gloom,
Stronger than death in dying; then resigned
Himself a willing Victim; dying bowed,
And on His Father's Breast His Head reclined.

3.

“Tis finishèd!” That voice hath reached the shore
Of never-ending ages, and more far
Than hath been traversed by the highest star;
Swifter than lightning it hath pierced the door
Of Hell, and echoes there for evermore.
'Tis finishèd: Death from life's theatre
The everlasting portals doth unbar,
The sinless Soul hath passed, and all is o'er.
It is a moment which we all must see,
On which there hangs a whole eternity,
And which to each can be but once; when they
Who now in Heaven watch this our trial day
Shall to each other say, “'tis finishèd;”
And men on earth shall whisper, “he is dead.”

4.

This thought it is which, if our love were cold,
Might lead us still, from very sympathy,
To hang our eager eyes and hearts on Thee:
That this most fearful moment must be told,
Whose memory shall never more grow old;
And that we have no strength in that dread hour
But that which emanates from this Thy power
In dying. Mortals now most proud and bold,
Who set at nought that hour, shall then most need
Thy succour, and a heart to Thee fast knit
In fellowship of suffering, used to feed
On Thee, and by austere self-rule made fit
For thoughts which ever from Thy Cross proceed,
'Neath which all penitential mourners sit.

5.

The goat, for the Lord's household to atone,
Bleeding and slain upon the altar lay,
As the most Sacred Body on this day:
The living goat, which, when all else was done,
Was let go to the wilderness unknown,
“Bearing the sins of many,” did portray
The Sacred Soul, which suffered such dismay
And sorrow, and from sight of men was gone.
Victims on which were laid the sins of men
Polluted and polluting were, and then
“Without the gate,” as some accursed thing,
Cast forth: and surely this Sin-offering
Were one accepted, and of boundless price,
If shame and pain can mark a sacrifice.

6.

Rizpah, that keepeth watch upon her Seven,
Sets forth the sevenfold grief of her bereaved
Of Him Who seven fulfils, until received
Into the Eighth of Rest, the day of Heaven,
The sixth is now consummate; this same even
Man was in Eden made; and now, reprieved
From Eden's curse, mankind, in Christ relieved,
Shall enter on the Sabbath, where 'tis given
To rest alone with God. Thus now I know,
Daughter of Aiah, why thy sorrows so
To holy mention have been consecrate;
And why thy weeping form early and late
On Gibeah's hill sits sad and desolate,
The image of another's deeper woe.

XXVII. CHRIST'S BODY ON THE CROSS.

1.

The dreadful scene is o'er, the woe is past,
And closed in death; yet penitential grief
Clings to the silent Cross; nor seeks relief
Elsewhere but there alone; the sun o'ercast,
Which hid itself in sorrow, now at last
Looks forth again: but in one day so brief
What scenes crowd thick for prayer or calm belief!
Loaded with destinies the minutes haste,
And in one moment all is finishèd.
Man lives, the Giver of all life is dead:
Man by His dying lives, by living dies
To what in him was human, lives to God:
Sin dies and man revives; the serpent lies
Slain by God-Man on the extended rod.

2.

How terrible and deep is this repose!
There is no stillness like the calm of death
That stops the beating heart and stills the breath;
For so hath God ordained, that at the close
Sad Meditation veil'd in silent woes
Beneath the shadow of eternity
May sit, in silence like the evening sky.
But this, though companied with dying throes,
Is not as other deaths; for Death that seems
Upon the still cold limbs and hanging head
To sit as victor, while he little deems,
Himself is by his conquest vanquishèd:
Hope in despair is planted; and the beams
Of morning are on day's departing shed.

3.

From hall of Judgment, by “the way of woe,”
To Golgotha and that sepulchral hill,
The numbered “stations” mark each spot of ill;
Whereon with faltering footsteps, sad and slow,
The pensive pilgrims linger as they go,
From scene to scene, from step to step, and still
From each anew their labouring bosoms fill
With prayer and praise. Each place, while from below
They upward wind, as flowers which bow their head
Beneath the passing footsteps as we tread,
Breathes incense of good thoughts, which shall imbue
The soul for future years. Thus mindful love
May pause upon each theme, and, like the dove,
In one same measured plaint her strain renew.

4.

Why should I not beneath the Cross lie still,
Recounting o'er and o'er the self-same beads,
Though the proud world rides by and nothing heeds,
While musing Meditation has her fill
In sonnet after sonnet poured forth, till
Goodwill itself is weariness, and needs
Variety, to sooth that faith that feeds
Upon the memories of that dreadful hill
Of sorrows? What avails it, if so be
That such my melancholy sad delight
May profit others? Nature loves the sight
Of ordered sameness in variety;
How many golden ears in harvest field
Each like to each their full-grained treasure yield!

5.

How many coral clusters hang and swing
Upon the mountain ash along the steep,
Which with its blood-red berries seems to weep!
More are they multiplied the more they cling
With roots into the rock from whence they spring;
For nature from her treasures vast and deep
With everlasting sameness loves to creep
Into fresh being; leaflets fluttering
Into new life one impress strive to hold;
Till on one tree, alike though manifold,
All fain would run into the self-same mould.
The flowers that look erect or hang on ground,
The stars that come forth in the blue profound,
So numberless, yet seem alike around.

6.

And if of English bards the chief and best,
Shakespeare and Spenser, such their sonnets wove,
On the loose intricacies of creature love;
Like each to each as speckled eggs in nest,
Or azure pearls upon their fair one's breast,
Or plumes on neck of the impassioned dove,
Or bubbles which on Ocean's surface move,
Thrown from his labourings deep and dark unrest,
As with the breeze they sport, or catch the gleam:—
Then may I not unblamed, from thoughts that teem
Mid flowers of Paradise, a nobler theme
Construct in semblance of the honeyed cells;
And, as the self-same measure falls and swells,
Ring on from morn to eve my music bells?

XXVIII. THE BURIAL OF CHRIST.

1.

Jerusalem, is this thy Sabbath deep
Which with this dreadful stillness doth begin,
After the many-voiced and murderous din,
Where thou would'st have thy Lord His rest to keep,
In zeal against His life? O wondrous sleep,
Which speaks in Thy redeemed a rest from sin;
A rest which is with Thee that tomb within,—
Rest in the Rock which shall their senses steep
In a forgetfulness of all beside,—
A Sabbath wherein Thou Thyself shalt hide,
And work again Thy healing miracles
Among the dead and dying; and from thence
Choose Thine own penitent that dies to sense,
And with Thee in the eternal Sabbath dwells.

2.

Where is Thy resting-place, Lord, after all
The sufferings of Thy Flesh so long and keen?
Where dost Thou keep Thy Sabbath all unseen?
Make Thou my heart as this sepulchral hall,
Though filled with recollections that appal;
Till from a sepulchre, by Thee made clean,
It shall become a temple all serene.
The World doth still against Thee press her call,
Some whisper grave and low, and mourning sigh,
And others loudly cry out, Crucify!
Yea, in each heart the Priests and multitude
Against Thee rise. With locks all dripping blood,
Where shalt Thou rest in the wide world forlorn,
But in the new-made breast of them that mourn?

3.

As Thou didst not abhor the Virgin's womb,
Nor the cold uncouth manger, and the stall
Of the rude hinds and bleating animal,
Nor childhood's bands and Nazareth's low room,
Nor touch of unclean sinner, nor the gloom
Of Ades, nor the over-hanging cave,
Shrouding Thee round with darkness of the grave;
But as the Sun vile places doth illume
Untainted by the foulness, so didst Thou,
Loving that lowliness which stoop'd so low
From the Heaven of Heavens, still lowlier love to bow
To meanest things on earth, yet take no stain.—
Then wilt Thou not a humble Guest e'en deign
To enter my poor heart, and there remain?

4.

Hard hath my heart been as the stony rock,
Yet therein would I make a place for Thee,
Where nought that breathes of mortal vanity
May more be laid, which might Thy sorrows mock;
But mournful Contemplation with a stock
Of better thoughts wait on Thee in my breast.
And if Thou thus wouldst come with me to rest,
I would 'gainst all things else my senses lock;
Like a closed sepulchre, where the rock weeps,
From very coldness, the ethereal dew
Condensing into drops, where hid from view
Around the cave the weeping moisture creeps.
So in this evening of my waning years
I would therein receive Thee with my tears.

5.

And if in soul and body, by long pain,
All that is earthly shall be mortified,
And Thou therein Thy quickening Presence hide,
That which is stony wilt Thou burst in twain,
As from stern winter's womb, and rise and reign
In vernal resurrection,—to abide
Here in new life by sorrow sanctified
Awhile, her course of trial to sustain,
And then arise to Heaven; thus here below
The tide of all my thoughts, that ebb and flow
In joy or sadness, may in either still
Be quickened by an all-inspiring Love,
And so may move obedient to Thy will,
Responsive to the drawings from above.

6.

Would that my heart were meet to be Thy rest
In holy stillness; would that I might dwell
With Thee alone in this Thy rocky cell,
And shut out all the world! O thought most blest,
And yet of all most dreadful, dispossessed
Of all things which the self-proud spirit swell,
To be alone with Thee—approachable
By nought but holy thoughts, or thoughts distressed
That yearn to be so! As the solemn night
In contemplation wrapt and silent gloom,
With all her stars and covering of thick shade;
So this our burial with Thee in the tomb
Is semblance of the time when out of sight
The disembodied soul with Thee is laid.

XXIX. THE COVERING OF CHRIST'S BODY.

1.

Comes Nicodemus too? not as of old
Muffling his face in mantle of the night,
To hold his converse with the Prince of Light,
But even by despair now rendered bold.
O blessed hands that lifeless frame to hold,
And bear! O mournful beatific sight!
With eloquent tongue of that sepulchral rite
Ordained of old, whose fragrant sweets enfold,
And speak of Resurrection in the grave!
He dies, when others He had power to save;
While women hang the speechless head and weep:
As when some shepherd for his helpless sheep
Is slain, and prostrate lies upon the ground,
His flock like downcast mourners stand around.

2.

Yea, company most blest, most sad below,
With odours sweet, (O contravention strange!)
To antedate of death the loathsome change;
As if to struggle with the last dread foe
E'en in his own dark kingdom, nor forego
The prey that seemed already his, but plant
Tokens of joy and living covenant
E'en in corruption's range of utter woe.
With linen white and clean for the dark tomb,
Like spotless snow from Heaven in winter's gloom,
Falling upon some still and shadowy night,
While stars keep watch throughout the infinite;
To shelter with its covering soft and bright
Dead nature—ere it put on vernal bloom.

3.

But what are these, the costly liniment,
Sabean odours, Araby's perfume,
That wrap His pallid Body in the tomb?
Was it for this, in sad presentiment,
Kings from the rich and fragrant East were sent
To where that star's pale radiance did illume
That stable-cave, wherein a mother leant
Upon the offspring of her Virgin womb?
When festal scents of myrrh and frankincense
Were soon to blend with weeping Rachel's cry,
And dying shrieks of murdered Innocents,—
While kingly worshippers around Him press,
And Tyrian garb and gold of Araby
Seemed but to mock His cold and nakedness.

4.

But what may these the odorous spices mean
That are with Thee within the winding-sheet?
It is the embalming of affections sweet
From bodies mortified and souls serene,
That tend Thee in that “linen white and clean,”
Which is “the righteousness of saints,” made meet
Around Thy bleeding Head and wounded Feet
To watch, and in the silent heart unseen,—
Embalming with the sighs of pensive love,
Which fragrance hath of immortality,
And finds a place among those souls that prove
Dead to this world of sense, and hide with Thee;
Like Magdalene, whose praise is seal'd above,
And breathes on earth for ages yet to be.

5.

When such affections in the heart are found,
They ever love the solitude and shade,
And covered in the grave with Christ are laid;
As lies the fleecy mantle on the ground
Sheltering the roots, which shall anon abound
With Resurrection; or as buds, afraid
Of gales severe or gentle, have arrayed
Themselves in leafy coverings all around;
Or as the flowers that ope their dewy cup
To their own sun, but soon again fold up
Their fragrant bosom from the nightly dew,
Or nipping blasts; e'en so themselves unclose
To Christ the heart's affections; then from view
Hide in the tomb with Him, and there repose.

6.

O that the wondrous secrets of Thine Ark,
The Godhead and the Manhood joined in one,
Were safe in the withdrawals of Thy throne
From tongues of busy men, where shadows dark
Environ, and no eye of man can mark,
Where Faith and Love may entering be alone,
And feed on thoughts to adoration known.
Yet there intrude rash men to blow the spark
Of angry disputations, from the coal
Ta'en from Thine Altar, fill'd with fire of Heaven,
To sanctify the lips, and cleanse the soul.
While at Thy shrine, whence worshippers are driven,
Range disputants, which on each other frown,
Where Angels veil their faces and bow down.

XXX. CHRIST RISEN.

1.

How beautiful to watch the rising sun,
Afar upon the horizon's radiant brim
Appearing, 'mid the gathering shadows dim,
With all which ere his course hath yet begun
His rising bright are wont to wait upon;
With clouds like burning robes of Seraphim
Around him, and Creation's varied hymn
Greeting his coming with her benison!
Daily memorial of that glorious morn,
When the foundations of the world were laid,
And sons of God in multitudinous chime
Were heard,—prelusive of this better time,
Whereon the new creation first is born,
Arising from a night of darker shade.

2.

And if Creation to our sight restored
Such daily reminiscence brings to view,
Much more shall kingdoms of His grace renew
Memorials of her dead and rising Lord,
When in our heart of hearts, the Morning true,
He comes, our daily Bread,—loved and adored,—
The Light of lights on our Baptismal dew
Fresh shining with new day; the Living Word,
At whose command arose light's order stern
From the abyss, and onward moves till now.
Thus oft as from Thine Altar I return,
Thy Resurrection doth within me burn;
Streams of fresh light upon my spirits flow,
And bathe my dull affections with their glow.

3.

But if all power is wont to hide from sight,
Like God and His good Angels; as the wind
Impels and moulds the clouds, as viewless mind
Moves matter, and in mind the impervious might
Of reason, passion, or the spiritual light
Energise on the will, the purpose bind,
With all its secret movements intertwined;—
Much less can aught of sense discern aright,
When at God's holy Altar, with new dawn,
And healing on His wings, there doth arise
The Sun of Righteousness; and in the soul
From feeling and impassioned sense withdrawn,
Incarnate God, the Living Altar-coal,
Enters the soul, the body sanctifies.

4.

Christ rises;—lightning-stricken at the sight,
The arméd soldiery, who at the tomb
Kept their unholy watch, and walked the gloom,
Fall back, their faces hide in dread affright,
And like the scaréd shadows of the night
Hasten away: as when the aerial dome
The rising moon doth suddenly illume,
With silent intervention calm and bright
Just rising, and the clouds departing fly,
And flying feebly catch her silver ray.
E'en so those Heathen thoughts which held their sway,
And ever in the heart were hiding nigh,
When Christ doth visit us before His way
Shall flee, and He shall fill the untroubled sky.

5.

Christ rises!—not alone, with Him His own
Are rising from their graves, and burst the veil,
And look again on this their earthly jail,
E'en as the moon doth not arise alone,
But watchful sentinels attend her throne,
Yet love that they themselves should fade and fail,
In her surpassing lustre dim and pale.
'Tis thus when Christ within the soul made known
His glorious Resurrection shall declare,
His love and light shall dissipate the gloom;
Nor shall He thither unattended come,
But all the graces with Him make their home,
When He the darkness of the soul lays bare,
Fain to vouchsafe His gracious Presence there.

6.

“Unbind the grave-clothes, loose him, let him go!”
So spake the Lord when Lazarus had risen
From the dark night of death's mysterious prison,
Opening his eyes to see the day; and so
His ministers absolve and heal the woe,
And from death-fetters set the sinner free,
Ere he at table sits, good Lord, with Thee.
And witnesses there are of all below.
Christ left the virgin tomb, the twilight shone,
An Angel roll'd away the heavy stone,
In witness of the triumphs He had won.
Thus, too, the blessed Angels at the end,
In the great Resurrection, shall descend,—
A solemn witness on each soul attend.

XXXI. CHRIST APPEARING.

1.

Thou that art in the rocky clefts, my Dove;
Thou that in secret of the stairs dost dwell,
And hidest Thee within Thy stony cell,—
Oh, let me see Thy countenance of love;
Oh, let me hear Thy voice; as from above
The day breaks and the shadows flee away.
Winter is past and gone; the young harts stray
Upon the hills; the turtle in the grove
Anticipates the dawn, heard though unseen
'Mid the dark pine-tree tops and tender green
Of vine and fig-tree; and the lilies bright
Put forth their flowrets from the leafy screen.
And who is she looks forth, as morning light,
Expecting? Rise, my soul, to meet this sight!

2.

I hear His voice: “Before the dawning day,
Lo, at thy door before the morning light
I knock; arise, My love,” I hear Him say,
“Arise, my love, my fair one, come away:
My locks are dripping with the dews of night,
My head is filled with dew. Come to My sight,
Open the door, together take our flight,
And in our own celestial gardens stray:
The fountains are unsealed, the south-winds blow,
And from their beds the breathing spices flow.
Come, let us see if tender grapes appear
Upon our vine, if summer yet be near.
Rise up and haste; for all the rest are gone:
My love, My undefilèd is but one.”

3.

My bowels while He spake were in me moved;
To my Beloved I opened, and the dawn
Was there; but my Light had Himself withdrawn.
I sought, but could not find Him. My Beloved,
I call Thee, but Thou answerest not. I roved,
And in the twilight sought, but He was gone.
O Thou so early found, but lost too soon,
Where shall I seek Thy countenance unreproved?
My heart is faint within me. Is it so,
That I must ever seek Thee, and complain;
Still hear Thy voice, and ever wandering go
After the sound, yet ask for Thee in vain;
Feeling Thee near, and strive Thy feet to hold,
And, finding nothing, grasp Thy mantle's fold?

4.

Soft was His Presence as the gentle snow,
That falls from Heaven and lies upon the ground,
Then vanishes, that not a trace is found
Where it had been; or as the witness bow,
Fearful though bright, that hastening seems to go
As gently as it came. Such dead profound,
Such light and gloom, such tears and gleams abound
Upon its stay, that ere we seemed to know
And calculate our promise, it was fled.
Yet oft returns His Presence from the dead,
We know not how, but 'mid this earthly storm
He promised, and He hastens to perform,
In sacramental sign, by which we live,
The covenanted promise to forgive.

5.

Where doth the Mother veil her weeping eyes?
Doth Christ unto her longing sight reveal
His Presence, on her grief in silence steal?
Or cheer her soul in some celestial guise?
On such, the hidden secret of the skies,—
Whereon the All-Wise Spirit sets the seal
Of silence, from our searches to conceal,
With the thick veil of thrice six centuries,—
Let not man's curious judgment there intrude,
Nor in that awe-encompass'd solitude
Set foot; lest error should herself entwine
To blend with human fiction truth divine;
And blindness strike our thoughts, too bold of heart,
Which dare to look where Christ doth stand apart.

6.

And Faith, with marvel-working influence,
Vouchsafes a blessedness beyond the sight,
Which lies within, far deeper than the light
That visits our gross eyes; with other sense
Than that which is by fleshly instruments
Adoring sees, and feels, and knows delight:
Sure man's high-wrought imaginings may blight
The majesty retired and reverence
Due to immortal Truth. We know full well
What He reveals is as a sea replete
With knowledge and with wisdom; and if meet
That when He speaks we should in trembling dwell
On all that issues from His holy seat,
His silence too is most adorable.

XXXII. THE FORTY DAYS.

1.

O glorious, wonderful, and blessed days,
When Christ full oft at each accustomed scene
Walked in the Resurrection,—oft unseen,
And oft appearing to the adoring gaze;
At morn or eve, on travellers' pensive ways,
By rocky cove, or shore, or mount serene,
Or at the social board, would intervene,
In veil of flesh hiding His Godhead's blaze;
Unknown, yet well known; in such marvellous change,
Like the impalpable air, in stillness brought
Through close-barred doors, silent, swift, calm as thought,
Yet palpable: in vast and boundless range,
Setting the laws of matter all at nought,
And yet the same in transmutation strange.

2.

Great earnest of the time when, cleansed from sin,
The Saints shall rise with bodies glorified,
Like half-transparent veils to flesh allied,
Yet changed; when those affections which have been
Growing into the soul, and laid therein
By fiery trials, shall no longer hide,
But on the outward features shall abide,
Like fervid emanations from within,
Which mould the breathing form and character,
And impress of the soul. O vision fair,
That meets not human eye or human thought,
But sets our dull imaginings at nought,
When these our earthly frames, divinely wrought
And purified, with Christ Himself appear!

3.

When our insensate limbs lie on the bed
Of sleep, on the live spirit visions break,
Which then without the body is awake.
And if it be, as holy men have said,
That sleep is but an image of the dead,—
What time the soul the lifeless body leaves,
And to new being lives, and joys, and grieves,—
Then things which here we most have cherishèd
May blend with visions of that after-sight,
As here in dreams of woe or keen delight;
But when our souls and bodies shall unite,
Then it may be as when we ope our eyes
At waking, and with sense regained arise
To woe or joy's substantial verities.

4.

I see a company bright with new light,
That moving form a silver galaxy,
'Mid trees of Paradise that hang thereby;
Where waters, clear as flowing chrysolite,
From an o'erhanging cave flow down the height;
O'er each, with a distinctness all his own,
A starry effluence hath formed a crown;
And by the side of each there comes to sight
A wingèd angel, with endearing face,
Or guidance leading on, or calm embrace;
And some before the rest, within a stream
Of silver rays, which from the portal pours,
Rising, approach the everlasting doors,
Borne from their feet, and whitening in the beam.

5.

And over all there lay a bright serene,
A calm no man can speak, whose dread repose
Lifted it up above the joys and woes
Of this our turbulent unquiet scene,
And set apart: thus onward are they seen
Advancing: if it motion could be called
That was so like repose, whose peace appalled
The looker-on of earth, and rose between
This world and Heaven: while here a glorious group,
Turned Heaven-ward in its still slow measured dance,
Did Eastward through the lustrous trees advance:
While others from behind, in lengthened troop,
Looked up to where an angel seemed to stoop,
With trumpet-voice, and held their sense in trance.

6.

But if no hand or thought can rightly paint
That scene so terrible and yet so fair,
Much less can mortal thought,—by grovelling care,
Or low pursuit, or the defiling taint
Of foul imaginings void of restraint,
Made sensual,—from things of earth, sea, air,
Learn aught of those bright things beyond compare.
Yea, saintly souls themselves are frail and faint
Aught to conceive of that high blessedness:
They gain no glimpse, or if they should attain,
Yet find no words that vision to express;
Or if they language find to speak, no less
Their burning words to others speak in vain,
Who hear but cannot understand the strain.

XXXIII. THE ASCENSION.

1.

He hath gone up on high, the Heavens appear
To stoop for Him, and earth itself to rise
To send Him thither; henceforth earth and skies
Seem as if reconciled to draw more near,
While for His Saints He is preparing there
A place, though hidden from our mortal eyes;
And in those hearts which unto Him arise
By His descending gracious Comforter,
Preparing for Himself a place below,
From mortal eyes though hidden,—with new laws
Thus lifted up the souls of men He draws
After Him, where above He pleads their cause,—
Draws after Him, as sparks that upward go,
And rise unto the sun from whence they flow.

2.

As from an exile's sad and ruined coast,
They who would send one to prepare a home
In happier climes, where they themselves would come,
And watch him in departing; yet, when lost,
Miss his protecting hand, and feel then most
Bereaved; so we, where clouds the skies illume,
Watch Him ascend, and feel an evening gloom
Steal o'er us on our way by shadows cross'd.
But if our hearts we wean from things of sense,
And cleanse our eyes by faith and abstinence
To see Him still in His departing hence,
The mantle of His peace shall on us rest;
His Spirit's double portion fill our breast;
And we e'en by His absence be more blest.

3.

'Tis said, in love there is this mystery,
That we cannot recall the absent glance,
Nor very self of a dear countenance,
When far away; of this the cause may be
That those we love are one with us, and we
Cannot behold ourselves. When out of sight
Thus love runs forth to what is infinite;
And so the more we love, the less we see:
For it is given to feed on the Divine,
When we the human lose; and the Unseen
Comes to be with us more, the more we wean
Our thoughts from what is sensible. Be mine
The better part to see not, yet believe:
Although the more I love, the more I grieve.

4.

The human soul is yearning after love,
And finding not still feels itself alone,
Turning from side to side with ceaseless moan;
Or if she find what may affection move,
The object of her love turns to reprove,
By misplaced trust, or stern disunion,
Or disappointment; or if raised to One,
Who is the Everlasting rest above
Of Spirits divine, though for a while unseen;
The more her inward poverty she knows,
And finds unrest in seeking for repose:
Nor can sustain her to those heights serene
Against the attractions of our lower birth,
Whose gravitation draws her back to earth.

5.

But since our God Incarnate is on high,
And in mysterious channels from the skies
Blends with our fallen nature; and brought nigh
Flows into all our human sympathies,
The everlasting Life of those that die;
No longer may our love thus buried lie
In low-born cares, with not a thought to rise,
And walk amid those pure societies;
Till life itself becomes the sepulchre
Of the undying soul; itself the prey
Of creeping things, or things far worse than they;
Imbedded in unworthy hope and fear,
Ere in the tomb, in its appointed day,
Its mantle of corruption disappear.

6.

For now our very flesh He hath put on,
And in the intricate spirit thus hath wound
With involutions many and profound,
From state of our corruption hath begun
To hallow the affections He hath won,
And feelings human and Divine hath bound
To His own service; with them to surround
His place of rest and Sabbath. As the sun
Drowns in itself all lesser fires to feed
Its own,—itself afar yet wondrous near:
So may He with regenerating fear
As from our being's centre still proceed
To every inmost feeling, word, and deed,—
To every outward sense, and eye, and ear.

XXXIV. THE DESCENT OF THE HOLY SPIRIT.

1.

“Let there be Light!” God said: and at the sound,
With varied order, beautiful and young,
From the dead formless void Creation sprung,
And sea and land with their alternate bound,
And shining worlds that range the blue profound,
With hills and woods, and beasts the hills among,
And painted birds that in the forest sung,
And flowers of scent, and hue that deck'd the ground,
And seas and streams where roam'd the finny herd.
But how much more when that creative Word,
The Gift Unspeakable on man conferr'd,
Was seen in flaming tongues that came to sight,
And heard in rushing winds of viewless might,
Saying to man's dark soul, “Let there be Light!”

2.

“Let there be Light!” Dead matter heard of old,
When the foundations of the world were laid,
And e'en in hearing instantly obeyed.
But twice nine hundred years have onward roll'd,
Since with His gifts and graces manifold
The Spirit hath gone forth, with light arrayed,
And the Almighty fiat hath been said;
Then why is the fulfilment yet untold?
There was of days a numbering and delay
When rose this visible scene of earth and sky,
Which hastes so fast to fade away and die:
To the All-wise it needs a longer day,
From the soul's endless ruin and decay,
To form a world for immortality.

3.

It needs a longer time to reinstate:—
The world arose in six days at His word,
And clothed itself in beauty as it heard;
But ere the mighty water-floods abate,
Which once have issued from the penal gate,
When Ocean for its cleansing hath been stirr'd,
By days, and weeks, and months must be deferred.
It needs a once-lost world to renovate
Much time, much suffering, many words, much price,
Of God Himself the costly Sacrifice,
With a long system of atoning pains
In shadows or in substance, which remains
From the beginning to the end of time,
When all shall fill One Mighty Truth sublime.

4.

But if the things beheld so glorious seem,
And long the time to be, and which hath been;
But yet how short the time, how poor the scene
Compared with that which issues from this dream,
Of which the sun is but a spark or beam?
And it may be, when death shall intervene,
All time hath comprehended then is seen
As instantaneous as a lightning gleam;
Or as when God first spake, and there was light.
E'en now more old we grow, or more the soul
Is in her view enlarged, or to the goal
Draws near, more brief appear the things of sight:
How short shall then appear this little whole,
When we behold it from the shore aright?

5.

How populous, 'tis said, is solitude!
Men hear it, and receive the truth sublime,
Yet mark not why. If rightly understood,
It is the company of the wise and good:
In solitude we pass from present time,
Above the living crowd we needs must climb,
And make the past and future our abode.
Thus when in solitary thoughts we brood
Upon the City which descends from high,
Before and after are unnumber'd eyes,
Such as are found in the eternal skies,
More than the thickest earthly companies:
And we may blend in the society
Of Saints, which on the breast of Jesus lie.

6.

When at the Word of power creation rose,
The elements to their appointed place
All hastened, each to hold their separate space;
Earth, Sea, and Air, and Light and Darkness chose
Each their own realms, and barriers interpose,
Distinct in their gradations; each his race
To run, and to fulfil his day of grace.
And we, too, who have heard His voice, must close,
And take our stations, or we are undone.
That Word of power hath gone forth to all lands,
With gifts, and benedictions, and commands;
And gather'd in unto the Holy One,
Sprinkled with blood, each Saintly Spirit stands,
Before the Lamb that sitteth on the throne.