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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".
He is despised and rejected of men.
Isaiah liii. 3.
Is it not strange, the darkest hour
That ever dawn'd on sinful earth Should touch the heart with softer power
For comfort, than an angel's mirth ? That to the Cross the mourner's eye should turn Sooner than where the stars of Christmas burn?
Sooner than where the Easter sun
Shines glorious on yon open grave, And to and fro the tidings run,
66 Who died to heal, is ris'n to save.” Sooner than where upon the Saviour's friends The very Con
Comforter in light and love descends. 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,
And with the Saviour's life-blood wet, They turn to sweetness, and drop holy balm, Soft as imprison'd martyr's deathbed calm.
All turn to sweet-but most of all
That bitterest to the lip of pride,
Or Friendship scorns us, duly tried,
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,
But we by Fancy may assuage
The festering sore by Fancy made,
Like wounded pilgrims safely laid.
O shame beyond the bitterest thought
That evil spirit ever fram’d,
Yet feel their haughty hearts untam’d-
Lord of my heart, by Thy last cry,
Let not thy blood on earth be spentLo, 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,
O let my heart no further roam, 'Tis thine by vows, and hopes, and fears,
Long since–O call thy wanderer home; To that dear home, safe in Thy wounded side, Where only broken hearts their sin and shame may
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
Deep in thy darksome bed;
Thy sacred form is gone;
Sleep’st Thou indeed ? or is thy spirit fled,
At large among the dead ?
Wake Abraham to rejoice,
controuls The thronging band of souls; That, as thy blood won earth, thine agony Might set the shadowy realm from sin and sorrow free.
Where'er Thou roam’st, one happy soul, we know,
Seen at thy side in woek,
With him and thee shall rest.
Watching thy patient smile,
Soon wilt Thou take us to thy tranquil bower
To rest one little hour,
Call Thee to come and save :
k St. Luke xxiii. 43.