So when th' Archangel's word is spoken, In mercy thou may'st feel the heavenly hand, And in thy lot unharm❜d before thy Saviour stand". GOOD FRIDAY. He is despised and rejected of men. Is it not strange, the darkest hour Isaiah liii. 3. That ever dawn'd on sinful earth That to the Cross the mourner's eye should turn Sooner than where the Easter sun Shines glorious on yon open grave, And to and fro the tidings run, "Who died to heal, is ris'n to save." Sooner than where upon the Saviour's friends h Dap. xii. 13. Thou shalt rest, and stand in thy lot at the end of the days. Yet so it is for duly there The bitter herbs of earth are set, Till temper'd by the Saviour's prayer, All turn to sweet-but most of all Then like a long-forgotten strain Comes sweeping o'er the heart forlorn What sunshine hours had taught in vain Of JESUS suffering shame and scorn, As in all lowly hearts he suffers still, While we triumphant ride and have the world at will. His pierced hands in vain would hide His face from rude reproachful gaze, His ears are open to abide The wildest storm the tongue can raise, He who with one rough word', some early day, Their idol world and them shall sweep for aye away. But we by Fancy may assuage The festering sore by Fancy made, Down in some lonely hermitage Like wounded pilgrims safely laid. Where gentlest breezes whisper souls distress'd, O shame beyond the bitterest thought That sinners know what Jesus wrought, Yet feel their haughty hearts untam’d— That souls in refuge, holding by the Cross, Lord of my heart, by Thy last cry, Let not thy blood on earth be spent— Lo, at thy feet I fainting lie, Mine eyes upon thy wounds are bent, Upon thy streaming wounds my weary eyes Wait like the parched earth on April skies. i Wisdom of Solomon xii. 9. Wash me, and dry these bitter tears, 'Tis thine by vows, and hopes, and fears, Long since-O call thy wanderer home; To that dear home, safe in Thy wounded side, hide. EASTER EVE. As for thee also, by the blood of thy covenant I have sent forth thy prisoners out of the pit wherein is no water. Zech. xi. 11. AT length the worst is o'er, and Thou art laid All still and cold beneath yon dreary stone Around those lips where power and mercy hung, The dull earth o'er Thee, and thy foes around, Thou sleep'st a silent corse, in funeral fetters wound. Sleep'st Thou indeed? or is thy spirit fled, Whether in Eden bowers thy welcome voice Or in some drearier scene thine eye The thronging band of souls; controuls That, as thy blood won earth, thine agony Might set the shadowy realm from sin and sorrow free 66 Where'er Thou roam'st, one happy soul, we know, Waits on thy triumph-even as all the blest Each on his cross, by Thee we hang a while, Till we have learn'd to say, ""Tis justly done, Only in glory, LORD, thy sinful servant own." Soon wilt Thou take us to thy tranquil bower Till thine elect are number'd, and the grave k St. Luke xxiii. 43. |