My face they cover, though it be divine.
As Moses face was vailed, so is mine,

Lest on their double-dark souls either shine:
Was ever grief like mine?

Servants and abjects flout me, they are wittie:
Now prophesie who strikes thee, is their dittie.
So they in me denie themselves all pitie:

Was ever grief like mine?

And now I am deliver d unto death,

Which each one cals for so with utmost breath,

That he before me well-nigh suffereth :

Was ever grief like mine?

Weep not, deare friends, since I for both have wept
When all my tears were bloud, the while you slept:
Your tears for your own fortunes should be kept
Was ever grief like mine?

The souldiers lead me to the common hall;
There they deride me, they abuse me all:
Yet for twelve heav'nly legions I could call:
Was ever grief like mine?

Then with a scarlet robe they me aray;

Which shews my bloud to be the onely way,
And cordiall left to repair mans decay:

Was ever grief like mine?

Then on my head a crown of thorns I wear;
For these are all the grapes Sion doth bear,
Though I my vine planted and watred there :
Was ever grief like mine?

So sits the earths great curse in Adams fall

Upon my head; so I remove it all

From th' earth unto my brows, and bear the thrall: Was ever grief like mine?

Then with the reed they gave to me before,

They strike my head, the rock from whence all store Of heav'nly blessings issue evermore:

Was ever grief like mine?

They bow their knees to me, and cry, Hail king!
What ever scoffes or scornfulnesse can bring,
I am the floore, the sink, where they it fling:
Was ever grief like mine?

Yet since mans sceptres are as frail as reeds,
And thorny all their crowns, bloudie their weeds;
I, who am Truth, turn into truth their deeds:

Was ever grief like mine?

The souldiers also spit upon that face
Which Angels did desire to have the grace,
And Prophets once to see, but found no place :
Was ever grief like mine?

Thus trimmed forth they bring me to the rout,
Who Crucifie him, crie with one strong shout.
God holds his peace at man, and man cries out:
Was ever grief like mine?

They leade me in once more, and putting then
Mine own clothes on, they leade me out agen.
Whom devils flie, thus is he toss'd of men :

Was ever grief like mine?

And now wearie of sport, glad to ingrosse
All spite in one, counting my life their losse,
They carrie me to my most bitter crosse :

Was ever grief like mine?

My crosse I bear my self, untill I faint:
Then Simon bears it for me by constraint,
The decreed burden of each mortall Saint:

Was ever grief like mine?

O all ye who passe by, behold and see:

Man stole the fruit, but I must climbe the tree; The tree of life to all, but onely me:

Was ever grief like mine?

Lo, here I hang, charg'd with a world of sinne,
The greater world o' th' two; for that came in
By words, but this by sorrow I must win:

Was ever grief like mine?

Such sorrow, as if sinful man could feel,
Or feel his part, he would not cease to kneel,
Till all were melted, though he were all steel.
Was ever grief like mine?

But, O my God, my God! why leav'st thou me,
The sonne, in whom thou dost delight to be?
My God, My God.

Never was grief like mine?

Shame tears my soul, my bodie many a wound; Sharp nails pierce this, but sharper that confound; Reproches, which are free, while I am bound:

Was ever grief like mine?

G

Now heal thyself, Physician; now come down.
Alas! I did so, when I left my crown

And fathers smile for you, to feel his frown:
Was ever grief like mine?

In healing not myself, there doth consist
All that salvation, which ye now resist;
Your safetie in my sicknesse doth subsist:

Was ever grief like mine?

Betwixt two theeves I spend my utmost breath,
As he that for some robberie suffereth,

Alas! what have I stollen from you? death:

Was ever grief like mine?

A king my title is, prefixt on high;

Yet by my subjects am condemn'd to die

A servile death in servile companie :

Was ever grief like mine?

They gave me vinegar mingled with gall,
But more with malice: yet, when they did call,
With Manna, Angels food, I fed them all:

Was ever grief like mine?

They part my garments, and by lot dispose
My coat, the type of love, which once cur'd those
Who sought for help, never malicious foes:

Was ever grief like mine?

But now I die; now all is finished.

My wo, man's weal: and now I bow my head:

Onely let others say, when I am dead,

Never was grief like mine.

GEORGE HERBERT.

53

THE SUFFERINGS OF CHRIST.

As for Him (The blessed Jesus), He was a worm and no man, a very scorn of men, and the outcast of the people. (Ps. xxii. 6.)

And they that did see Him, did laugh Him to scorn; they did shoot out their lips, and shake their heads, saying, (Ps. xxii. 7.)

He trusted in God that He would deliver Him; let Him deliver Him, if He will have Him. (xxii. 8.)

But Thou (O God) wert He that took Him out of His mother's womb; Thou wast His hope when He hanged yet upon his mother's breasts. (Ps. xxii. 9.)

He was left unto Thee, ever since He was born; Thou wert His God, even from His mother's womb. (xxii. 10.)

Thou didst not go far from Him when trouble was hard at hand, and there was none to help Him. (xxii. 11.)

Many oxen came about Him, fat bulls of Basan closed Him in on every side. (xxii. 12.)

They gaped upon Him with their mouths, as it were a ramping, and a roaring lion. (xxii. 13.)

He was poured out like water, all His bones