THE TWO SAYINGS.

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“O Father! not my will, but thine, be done!" So spake the Son.

Be this our charm, mellowing earth's ruder noise,
Of griefs and joys;

That we may cling for ever to thy breast,
In perfect rest!

THE TWO SAYINGS.

MRS. E. B. BROWNING.

Two sayings of the Holy Scriptures beat,
Like pulses, in the Church's brow and breast;
And by them we find rest for our unrest,
And, heart-deep in salt tears, do yet entreat
God's fellowship, as if on heavenly seat.
The first is JESUS WEPT, whereon is prest

Full many a sobbing face that drops its best.
And sweetest waters on the record sweet:
And one is where the Christ denied and scorned
LOOKED UPON PETER. Oh, to render plain,
By help of having loved a little, and mourned,
That look of sovran love and sovran pain,
Which He who could not sin, yet suffered, turned
On him who could reject, but not sustain!

THE SAVIOUR'S DYING HOUR.

MRS. HEMANS.

O SON of Man!

Shadows of earth closed round thee fearfully!
All that on us is laid,

All the deep gloom,

The desolation and the abandonment,

The dark amaze of death,

All upon THEE too fell,

Redeemer! Son of Man!

But the keen pang

Wherewith the silver cord

Of earth's affection from the soul is wrung,
The uptearing of those tendrils which have grown
Into the quick strong heart,-

This, this, the passion and the agony

Of battling love and death,

Surely was not for Thee,
Holy One! Son of God!

Yes, my Redeemer!

E'en this cup was thine!

Fond wailing voices called thy spirit back;
E'en midst the mighty thoughts

Of that last crowning hour,

E'en on thine awful way to victory,

THE SAVIOUR'S DYING Hour.

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Wildly they called thee back!
And weeping eyes of love

Unto thy heart's deep core

Pierced through the folds of death's mysterious

veil;

Sufferer! thou Son of Man!

Mother-tears were mingled

With thy costly blood-drops,

In the shadow of the atoning cross;
And the friend, the faithful,

He that on thy bosom,

Thence imbibing heavenly love, had lain,

He, a pale sad watcher,

Met with looks of anguish

All the anguish in thy last meek glance,
Dying Son of Man!

Oh! therefore unto thee,

Thou that hast known all woes

Bound in the girdle of mortality!

Thou that wilt lift the reed

Which storms have bruised,

To thee may sorrow through each conflict cry; And in that tempest hour when love and life Mysteriously must part,

When tearful eyes

Are passionately bent

To drink earth's last fond meaning from our gaze, Then, then forsake us not!

Shed on our spirits then

The faith and deep submissiveness of thine! Thou that didst love,

Thou that didst weep and die,

Thou that didst rise, a victor glorified!
Conqueror! thou Son of God!

THE CRUCIFIXION.

F. H. HEDGE.

'T was the day when God's Anointed Died for us the death appointed,

Bleeding on the dreadful cross;

Day of darkness, day of terror,
Deadly fruit of ancient error,

Nature's fall, and Eden's loss!

Haste, prepare the bitter chalice!
Gentile hate and Jewish malice

Lift the royal victim high,

Like the serpent, wonder-gifted,
Which the Prophet once uplifted, -
For a sinful world to die!

Conscious of the deed unholy,
Nature's pulses beat more slowly,

And the sun his light denied;

THE CRUCIFIXION.

Darkness wrapped the sacred city,
And the earth with fear and pity

Trembled when the Just One died.

It is finished, Man of sorrows!
From thy cross our nature borrows

Strength to bear and conquer thus.
While exalted there we view thee,
Mighty Sufferer, draw us to thee,
Sufferer victorious!

Not in vain for us uplifted,
Man of sorrows, wonder-gifted!

May that sacred symbol be.

Eminent amid the ages,

Guide of heroes and of sages,

May it guide us still to thee!

Still to thee, whose love unbounded
Sorrow's deep for us hath sounded,
Perfected by conflicts sore.

Glory to thy cross for ever!

Star that points our high endeavor
Whither thou hast gone before.

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