The Remorse of Judas. And he cast down the pieces of silver in the temple, and departed, and went and hanged himself.-ST. MATTHEW Xxvii. 5. THE thirty pieces down he flung, He can not sleep, he dares not watch; That weight is on his heart, For which, nor earth nor heaven have hope, A curse is on his memory, We shudder at his name; At once we loathe and scorn his guilt, And yet we do the same: How oft in deed and word And do betray our Lord! THE REMORSE OF JUDAS. We bend the knee, record the vow, And breathe the fervent prayer: How soon are prayer and vow forgot, Amid life's crime and care!" The Saviour's passion, cross, and blood, If first that Saviour we forget, For pleasures, vanities, and hates, The compact we renew, And Judas rises in our hearts We sell our Saviour too. How for some moment's vain delight We will embitter years, And in our youth lay up for age Only remorse and tears. Ah! sanctify and strengthen, Lord, And from the devil and the world And as the mariners at sea Still watch some guiding star, So fix our hearts and hopes on thee Until thine own they are. Miss Landon. 155 The Erown of Thorns. And when they had platted a crown of thorns they put it upon his head, and a reed in his right hand; and they bowed the knee before him, and mocked him, saying, "Hail, King of the Jews."-ST. MATTHEW Xxvii. 29. Too little do we think of thee, Our too indulgent Lord: We dwell not on thy word. Thou, who in human shape wast born, And shared in human woe; Thou, who didst wear the crown of thorn, Which all must wear below; Thou, who the sinner's fate didst share, Yet from the grave arise Alas! unworthy that we are Of such a sacrifice. Thy love should fill our hearts, like dew That fills the flowers by night; Who in that gentle rain, renew The waste of morning's light. THE CROWN OF THORNS. Thus doth life's hurry and its glare The holier thoughts that are thy share, The spirit's better part. And yet we turn not to thy love, We seek not to recall The hopes that lift our souls above On pleasures or on wealth intent, And vainly precious hours are spent Their joy and sorrow, sin and strife, O Lord, if every thought were thine, Yet thou hast said, thou wilt accept 157 |