If I might choose, those notes should all be

duller,

That silver trump should fail in Passion

Week;

The mountain-crowning sky wear one pale

color,

Pale as my Saviour's cheek.

And day and night there should be one slow raining,

With mournful plash, upon the moor and

moss,

And on the hill one tree its bare arms straining, Bare as my Saviour's Cross.

Nay! if thy heart were sorrowful exceeding,
Its pulses big with that divinest woe,
These natural things would only set it bleeding
To think it could be so ;

To think that guilty and degraded Nature
Could look as joyful as she looketh now,

When the warm blood has dropped from her
Creator

Upon her branded brow.

"When my heart is overwhelmed, lead me to the Rock that is higher than I."- PSALM lxi. 2.

ATHER, my cup is full!
My trembling soul I raise;
Oh, save me in this solemn hour,
Thy might and love to praise !

Father, my cup is full!

But One hath drunk before,
And for our sins Thy face was hid,
When the bitter draught ran o'er.

Father, my cup is full!

But Thou dost bid me drink;

I know Thy love the chalice mixed,

And I faint I shrink.
yet

Alone He drank the cup,

The holy, sinless One,

That not one soul on earth again Should drain the dregs alone.

Father, forsake me not!

Oh, Christ! I look to Thee; And by Thy midnight agony, Do Thou remember me.

GETHSEMANE.

JESUS, while He dwelt below,
As divine historians say,

To a place would often go;
Near to Kedron's brook it lay;
In this place He loved to be;
And 't was named Gethsemane.

'T was a garden, as we read, At the foot of Olivet, Low, and proper to be made

The Redeemer's lone retreat:

When from noise He would be free,
Then He sought Gethsemane.

Thither, by their Master brought,

His disciples likewise came; There the heavenly truths He taught

Often set their hearts on flame; Therefore they, as well as He, Visited Gethsemane.

Came at length the dreadful night;
Vengeance, with its iron rod,
Stood, and with collected might,
Bruised the harmless Lamb of God;
See, my soul, thy Saviour see,

Prostrate in Gethsemane.

View Him in that olive-press,

Wrung with anguish, 'whelm'd in blood!

Hear Him pray in His distress,

With strong cries and tears, to God:

Then reflect what sin must be,

Gazing on Gethsemane.

Gloomy garden, on thy beds,

Wash'd by Kedron's water-pool, Grow most rank and bitter weeds,

Think on these, my soul, my soul! Would'st thou sin's dominion see? Call to mind Gethsemane.

Hither, Lord, Thou didst resort
Oft-times with Thy little train;

Here would'st keep Thy private court,
Oh! confer that grace again :
Lord, resort with worthless me
Oft-times to Gethsemane.