The new minnesinger and other poems By Arran Leigh [i.e. K. H. Bradley and E. E. Cooper] |
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THE BETRAYAL.
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 | The new minnesinger and other poems |  |
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THE BETRAYAL.
Verily, verily, I say unto you, that one of you shall betray me.
Then the disciples looked one on another, doubting of whom he spake.
He then lying on Jesus' breast saith unto him, Lord, who is it?
—St. John xiii. 21, 22, 25.
Lord, if he who lov'd thee best,
Lying lowly on thy breast,
When he heard Thee sadly say,
‘One among ye shall betray,’
Could not quite his heart assure,
'Gainst that foulest sin secure,
But with trembling sought reply,—
‘Lord, who is it, is it I?’
Lying lowly on thy breast,
When he heard Thee sadly say,
‘One among ye shall betray,’
Could not quite his heart assure,
'Gainst that foulest sin secure,
But with trembling sought reply,—
‘Lord, who is it, is it I?’
If the twelve Thou countedst blest,
For the faith their lives confest,
For the love that did not shrink
Of thy bitt'rest cup to drink;
If those hero-saints that stand
Nearest Thee on either hand,
Loyal-hearted, could not cry
‘Lord, who is it? 'tis not I.’
For the faith their lives confest,
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Of thy bitt'rest cup to drink;
If those hero-saints that stand
Nearest Thee on either hand,
Loyal-hearted, could not cry
‘Lord, who is it? 'tis not I.’
How shall we who have not borne
For thy sake, or taunt or scorn,
Dare to dream such doubt had ne'er
Dimm'd our faith had we been there?
Rather let us own each heart
In the traitor's sin hath part;
Might desert Thee, might deny;
‘Lord, who is it, is it I?’
For thy sake, or taunt or scorn,
Dare to dream such doubt had ne'er
Dimm'd our faith had we been there?
Rather let us own each heart
In the traitor's sin hath part;
Might desert Thee, might deny;
‘Lord, who is it, is it I?’
Since we all have put to shame,
Jesus, thy most sacred name,
Since our lives have mocked Thee more
Than the Crown of Sorrows sore,
Think on us when Thou dost pray
For the souls that might betray;
For from broken hearts we cry,
‘Lord, who is it? it is I.’
Jesus, thy most sacred name,
Since our lives have mocked Thee more
Than the Crown of Sorrows sore,
Think on us when Thou dost pray
For the souls that might betray;
For from broken hearts we cry,
‘Lord, who is it? it is I.’
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