194

HIS OWN RECEIVED HIM NOT.

But night is herald of the day,

And hate's dark triumph but makes way
For love's eternal victory,

When life shall live, and death shall die.

Horatius Bonar.

Mary at the Erass.

Now there stood by the cross of Jesus, his mother, and his mother's sister, Mary the wife of Cleophas, and Mary Magdalene.-ST. JOHN xix. 25.

By his gibbet, she who bore him
Stood in tears; while, trickling o'er him,

Piteously the blood-drops stole.

Grief and woe her bosom harrow;
Lo! the seer's prophetic arrow

Now indeed "hath pierced her soul."

See how sorrowful and lonely
Stands that mother, while her only
Blessed Son in torture hangs!

Man's redemption the achievement,
But how bitter the bereavement;
How acute the mother's pangs!

Is there one, whose heart so leaden,
Cold indifference could deaden

At that scene of wondrous woe-
To behold that sainted being
Anguished beyond measure, seeing

What our Lord must undergo?

196

MARY AT THE CROSS.

Such the price of man's transgression,
Such the godlike intercession

Of her wounded, dying Son!
Whom she watches, broken-hearted,
Till his spirit hath departed—

Till the deed of blood is done.

Blessed Mary! let me share in

Thy affliction; let me bear in

Thy o'erpowering grief some part:
Let me in thy sorrows mingle;
Let devotion, pure and single,

For thy Son possess my heart.

Holy mother! grant this favor:
Let the sufferings of my Saviour
Sink into my bosom's core;
Let me dwell with deep affection,
Sad and frequent recollection,

On the torments that he bore;

Let me sorrow with thee truly;
Let me bear my portion duly

Of his cross, and while I live,

Stand in spirit by his gibbet,
Grief and love with thee exhibit,
Sympathy and homage give.

Virgin mother! purest maiden!
While thy heart with grief is laden,

MARY AT THE CROSS.

Mine a true compunction needs; Be the death of Christ aye present To my thoughts, and urge incessant On to penitential deeds.

Let the cross guard and protect me,
Through the paths of life direct me;
Through the sufferings of Christ
May I, when this clay shall moulder,
Of God's vision a beholder,
Joy with thee imparadised!

"Stabat Mater."

197

The Passion.

And it was about the sixth hour, and there was a darkness over all the carth until the ninth hour.-ST. LUKE Xxiii. 44.

CITY of God! Jerusalem,

Why rushes out thy living stream?—
The turbaned priest, the hoary seer,
The Roman in his pride, are here;

And thousands, tens of thousands, still
Cluster round Calvary's wild hill.

Still onward rolls the living tide,

There rush the bridegroom and the bride;

Prince, beggar, soldier, Pharisee,

The old, the young, the bond, the free;

The nation's furious multitude,

All maddening with the cry of blood.

"Tis glorious morn ;-from height to height

Shoot the keen arrows of the light;
And glorious in their central shower,
Palace of holiness and power,
The temple on Moriah's brow
Looks a new risen sun below.