 | Wood-notes and Church-bells |  |
221
CALVARY.
O darkest, saddest page in Gospel-story—God's Lamb is dragged along the dolorous way,
Hustled by pitiless crowds, the innocent prey
Of wolf-like men—fainting, bound, bruisèd, gory.
Nailed to the Cross on that low summit hoary,
They lift Him up in sight of glaring day,
Thorns and a veil of blood His sole array—
O blessèd wreath, O precious robe of glory!
Lord, I would gaze upon Thy shame and sorrow,
Through mingled tears of gratitude and grief,
Till from Thy stripes and wounds new hope I borrow;
And on that weeping cloud of mortal sadness
I see God's bow displayed in bright relief,
Token of wrath assuaged and Gospel gladness.
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