Part 103 (1/2)

264. HIS WORDS TO CHRIST GOING TO THE CROSS.

When Thou wast taken, Lord, I oft have read, All Thy disciples Thee forsook and fled.

Let their example not a pattern be For me to fly, but now to follow Thee.

265. ANOTHER TO HIS SAVIOUR.

If Thou be'st taken, G.o.d forbid I fly from Thee, as others did: But if Thou wilt so honour me As to accept my company, I'll follow Thee, hap hap what shall, Both to the judge and judgment hall: And, if I see Thee posted there, To be all-flayed with whipping-cheer, I'll take my share; or else, my G.o.d, Thy stripes I'll kiss, or burn the rod.

266. HIS SAVIOUR'S WORDS GOING TO THE CROSS.

Have, have ye no regard, all ye Who pa.s.s this way, to pity Me, Who am a man of misery!

A man both bruis'd, and broke, and one Who suffers not here for Mine own, But for My friends' transgression!

Ah! Sion's daughters, do not fear The cross, the cords, the nails, the spear, The myrrh, the gall, the vinegar;

For Christ, your loving Saviour, hath Drunk up the wine of G.o.d's fierce wrath; Only there's left a little froth,

Less for to taste than for to show What bitter cups had been your due, Had He not drank them up for you.

267. HIS ANTHEM TO CHRIST ON THE CROSS.

When I behold Thee, almost slain, With one and all parts full of pain: When I Thy gentle heart do see Pierced through and dropping blood for me, I'll call, and cry out, thanks to Thee.

_Vers._ But yet it wounds my soul to think That for my sin Thou, Thou must drink, Even Thou alone, the bitter cup Of fury and of vengeance up.

_Chor._ Lord, I'll not see Thee to drink all The vinegar, the myrrh, the gall:

_Vers. Chor._ But I will sip a little wine; Which done, Lord, say: The rest is Mine.

268.

This crosstree here Doth Jesus bear, Who sweet'ned first The death accurs'd.

Here all things ready are, make haste, make haste away; For long this work will be, and very short this day.

Why then, go on to act: here's wonders to be done Before the last least sand of Thy ninth hour be run; Or ere dark clouds do dull or dead the mid-day's sun.

Act when Thou wilt, Blood will be spilt; Pure balm, that shall Bring health to all.

Why then, begin To pour first in Some drops of wine, Instead of brine, To search the wound So long unsound: And, when that's done, Let oil next run To cure the sore Sin made before.

And O! dear Christ, E'en as Thou di'st, Look down, and see Us weep for Thee.

And tho', love knows, Thy dreadful woes We cannot ease, Yet do Thou please, Who mercy art, T' accept each heart That gladly would Help if it could.

Meanwhile let me, Beneath this tree, This honour have, To make my grave.

269. TO HIS SAVIOUR'S SEPULCHRE: HIS DEVOTION.

Hail, holy and all-honour'd tomb, By no ill haunted; here I come, With shoes put off, to tread thy room.

I'll not profane by soil of sin Thy door as I do enter in; For I have washed both hand and heart, This, that, and every other part, So that I dare, with far less fear Than full affection, enter here.

Thus, thus I come to kiss Thy stone With a warm lip and solemn one: And as I kiss I'll here and there Dress Thee with flow'ry diaper.

How sweet this place is! as from hence Flowed all Panchaia's frankincense; Or rich Arabia did commix, Here, all her rare aromatics.

Let me live ever here, and stir No one step from this sepulchre.