Say with richer crimson glows,
The kingly mantle than the rose;
Say have kings more wholesome fare,
Than we poor citizens of air?
Barns nor hoarded grain have we,
Yet we carol merrily;
Mortal, fly from doubt and sorrow,
God provideth for to-morrow.
One there lives, whose guardian eye
Guides our humble destiny;
One there lives, who Lord of all,
Keeps our feathers lest they fall;
Pass we blithely then the time,
Fearless of the snare and lime;
Free from doubt and faithless sorrow,
God provideth for to-morrow.
WAKE not, oh mother! sounds of lamentation;
Weep not, oh widow! weep not hopelessly!
Strong is his arm, the bringer of salvation!
Strong is the word of God to succour thee,
Bear forth the cold corpse, slowly, slowly bear him;
Hide his pale features with the sable pall;
Chide not the sad one wildly weeping o'er him,
Widow'd and childless, she has lost her all.
Why pause the mourners; who forbids our weeping? Who the dark pomp of sorrow has delay'd?
"Set down the bier-he is not dead, but sleeping! Young man, arise!" He spake, and was obey'd.
Change then, oh sad one, grief to exultation!
Worship and fall before Messiah's knee,
Strong was his arm, the bringer of salvation!
Strong was the word of God to succour thee."
BOUND upon the accursed tree,
Faint and bleeding, Who is he?
By the eyes so pale and dim,
Streaming blood, and writhing limb;
By the flesh with scourges torn,
By the crown of twisted thorn,
By the side so deeply pierc'd,
By the baffled burning thirst,
By the drooping death-dew'd browSon of Man, 'tis thou, 'tis thou.
Bound upon the accursed tree,
Dread and awful, Who is he?
By the sun, at noonday pale;
Shivering rocks and rending vale;
By earth, that trembles at his doom,
By yon saints, that burst the tomb;
By Eden, promis'd, ere he died,
To the felon at his side-
Lord, our suppliant knees we bow;
Son of God, 'tis thou, 'tis thou.
Bound upon the accursed tree,
Sad and dying, Who is he?
By the last and bitter cry,
The ghost given up in agony.
By the lifeless body, laid
In the chambers of the dead:
By the mourners come to weep
Where the bones of Jesus sleep :
Crucified-We know thee now,
Son of Man, 'tis thou, 'tis thou.
Bound upon the accursed tree,
Dread and awful, Who is he?
By the prayer for them that slew,
Lord, they know not what they do;"
By the spoil'd and empty grave,
By the souls he died to save,
By the conquest he hath won,
By the saints before his throne,
By the rainbow round his brow-
Son of God, 'tis thou, 'tis thou.
RIDE on! ride on in majesty!
Hark, all the tribes Hosanna cry!
Thy humble beast pursues his road,
With palms and scatter'd garments strew'd.
Ride on! ride on in majesty!
In lowly pomp ride on to die!
Oh Christ! thy triumphs now begin
O'er captive death and conquer'd sin.
Ride on! ride on in majesty!
The winged squadrons of the sky
Look down with sad and wondering eyes,
To see the approaching sacrifice!
Ride on! ride on in majesty!
Thy last and fiercest strife is nigh.
The Father, on his sapphire throne,
Expects his own anointed Son.
Ride on! ride on in majesty!
In lowly pomp ride on to die!
Bow thy meek head to mortal pain,
Then take, oh God! thy power, and reign!
HYMN OF THE HEBREW MAID.
WHEN Israel, of the Lord beloved,
Out from the land of bondage came,
Her father's God before her moved,
An awful guide in smoke and flame.
By day, along the astonish'd lands
The cloudy pillar glided slow;
By night, Arabia's crimson'd sands
Return'd the fiery column's glow.
There rose the choral hymn of praise,
And trump and timbrel answer'd keen;
And Zion's daughters pour'd their lays,
With priests' and warriors' voice between.
|