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Through yielding glooms behold his face, Nor form, nor comeliness is there.

Last eve, by those He call'd his own,
Betray'd, forsaken, or denied,
He met his enemies alone,

In all their malice, rage, and pride.

Brought forth to judgment, now He stands
Arraign'd, condemn'd at Pilate's bar,
Here spurn'd by fierce Prætorian bands,
There mock'd by Herod's men of war.

He bears their buffeting and scorn,
Mock-homage of the lip and knee,
The purple robe, the crown of thorn,
The scourge, the nail, th' accursed tree.

No guile within his mouth is found,
He neither threatens nor complains;
Meek as a Lamb for slaughter bound,
Dumb 'midst his murderers He remains.

But Hark! He prays,-'tis for his foes;
He speaks, 'tis comfort to his friends;
Answers, and Paradise bestows;
He bows his head; the conflict ends.

Truly this was the Son of God! -Though in a servants' mean disguise, And bruised beneath the Father's rod, Not for Himself,-for Man He dies.

CALVARY.

CUNNINGHAM.

FROM Calvary a cry was heard,
A long reiterated cry:
My Saviour! every mournful word
Bespeaks thy soul's deep agony.

A horror of deep darkness fell
On thee, the Immaculate, the Just;
The congregated hosts of hell

Combined to shake thy filial trust.

The scourge, the thorns, the deep disgrace, These thou could'st bear, and not repine; But when JEHOVAH veiled his face, Unutterable pangs were thine.

Let the dumb world her silence break;
Let pealing anthems rend the sky;
Awake, my sluggish soul, awake!
He died, that we may never die!

Lord, on thy cross I fix my eye;

If e'er I slight its pure control,

O let that dying, piercing cry

Melt and reclaim my wandering soul!

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YOUNG.

RELIGION! thou the soul of happiness,
And, groaning Calvary, of thee! There shine
The noblest truths; there strongest motives
sting;

There sacred violence assaults the soul;
There nothing but compulsion is forborne.
Can love allure us? or can terror awe?
He weeps!-the falling drop puts out the

sun.

He sighs!-the sigh earth's deep foundation shakes.

If in his love so terrible, what then
His wrath inflam'd? His tenderness on fire,
Like soft smooth oil, outblazing other fires?
Can pray'r, can praise avert it? Thou, my
all!

My theme! my inspiration! and my crown!
My strength in age! my rise in low estate!
My soul's ambition, pleasure, wealth! my
world!

My light in darkness! and my life in death!
My boast in time! bliss through eternity!
Eternity, too short to speak thy praise,
Or fathom thy profound of love to man!
To man of men the meanest, ev'n to me;
My sacrifice! my God!-what things are
these!

THE DEATH OF JESUS.

GRAHAME.

'Tis finished: he spake the words, and

bowed

His head, and died.-Beholding him far off, They who had ministered unto him hope

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Thrice begging help of those, whose sins Yet him, the meek, the merciful, the just, he bore, Upon the cross his rebel people hung,

And thrice denied of those, not to deny had And mock'd his dying anguish.

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worn;

This unexampled deed?"-The heavens Thy naked feet the thorns of sorrow trod,

exclaim

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And tempests beat thy houseless head forlorn.
Thou, that wert wont to stand
Alone, on God's right hand,

Before the Ages were, the Eternal, eldest born.

Thy birthright in the world was pain and grief,

Thy love's return ingratitude and hate; The limbs thou healedst brought thee no relief,

"'Twas Man;—and such strange pangs The eyes thou openedst calmly view'd thy

my bosom rent,

That still I groan and shudder at the past." -To Man, gay smiling, thoughtless Man I

went,

And ask'd him next:-He turn'd a scornful eye,

Shook his proud head, and deign'd me no reply.

INCARNATION, MIRACLES, AND DEATH OF CHRIST.

MILMAN.

THE Lord of Hosts hath walked This world of Man; the one Almighty sent His everlasting Son to wear the flesh, And glorify this mortal human shape :And the blind eyes unclosed to see the Lord; And the dumb tongues brake out in songs of praise;

And the deep grave cast forth its wondering dead;

And trembling devils murmur'd sullen hoinage:

fate:

Thou, that wert wont to dwell
In peace, tongue cannot tell,

Nor heart conceive the bliss of thy celestial

state.

They dragg'd thee to the Roman's solemn Hall,

Where the proud Judge in purple splendour

sat;

Thou stoodst a meek and patient criminal,
Thy doom of death from human lips to wait;
Whose throne shall be the world
In final ruin hurl'd,

With all mankind to hear their everlasting fate.

Thou wert alone in that fierce multitude, When "Crucify him!" yell'd the general shout;

No hand to guard thee mid those insults rude, Nor lip to bless in all that frantic rout;

Whose lightest whisper'd word

The Seraphim had heard,

And adamantine arms from all the heavens

broke out.

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They bound thy temples with the twisted thorn,

Thy bruised feet went languid on with pain; The blood, from all thy flesh with scourges torn,

Deepen'd thy robe of mockery's crimson

grain ;

Whose native vesture bright

Was the unapproached light,

Slow struggled from thy breast the parting
breath,

And every limb was wrung with agony.
That head, whose veilless blaze
Fill'd angels with amaze,

When at that voice sprang forth the rolling
suns on high.

And thou wert laid within the narrow tomb,

The sandal of whose foot the rapid hurri- Thy clay-cold limbs with shrouding grave

cane.

They smote tby cheek with many a ruthless palm,

With the cold spear thy shudd'ring side they pierced;

The draught of bitterest gall was all the balm They gave, t' enhance thy unslaked, burning thirst:

Thou whose words of peace

Did pain and anguish cease,

clothes bound;

The sealed stone confirm'd thy mortal doom,
Lone watchmen walk'd thy desert burial.
ground,

Whom heaven could not contain,
Nor th' immeasurable plain

Of vast Infinity inclose or circle round.

For us, for us, thou didst endure the pain,
And thy meek spirit bow'd itself to shame,
To wash our souls from sin's infecting stain,

And the long buried dead their bonds of T' avert the Father's wrathful vengeance

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