University of Virginia Library


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Maundy Thursday.

Count not,” the Lord's Apostle saith,
Who knew afflictions' sting,
“The fiery trial of your faith
As an unwonted thing.”
Yea, rather, Christ Himself would teach
His people, ere He went,
That they were mark'd for grief, by each
Thrice-blessed Sacrament.
When we, endued with power on high,
Began to live afresh,
We vowed our wills to mortify,
And crucify the flesh;

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To count all earthly gain as loss,
All earthly honour shame;
And we were strengthened with the Cross,
That we might bear the same.
Doth not the Altar call our thought
To His expiring breath?
The woes that our Salvation bought,
The love as strong as death?
His precious Body makes not whole
Till broken on the Wood:
The Chalice could not cleanse our soul,
Except it were His Blood.
A Master suffering on the Tree,
A servant at his ease!
Far, O Thou Lord of Calvary,
Such thoughts and hopes as these!
In us, and by us, every day,
Thy holy will be done,
Till Thou shalt call our soul away,
Eternal Three in One!
Amen.