By the cross, the nail, the thorn,
Piercing spear, and torturing scorn;
By the gloom that veiled the skies
O'er the dreadful sacrifice;
Listen to our humble cry,
Hear our solemn Litany!

By Thy deep expiring groan;
By the sad sepulchral stone;
By the vault, whose dark abode
Held in vain the rising God;
O from earth to heaven restored,
Mighty reascended Lord,
Listen, listen to the cry

Of our solemn Litany!

Sir R. Grant

XLIV

TO THE SAVIOUR

TAR of morn and even,

Saviour high and dear
Towards us turn Thine ear;
Through whate'er may come,
Thou canst lead us home.

Though the gloom be grievous,

Those we leant on leave us,

Though the coward heart
Quit its proper part,

Though the Tempter come,
Thou wilt lead us home.

THE CROSS

HEN I survey the wondrous cross On which the Prince of Glory died, My richest gain I count but loss, And pour contempt on all my pride.

Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,

Save in the death of Christ, my God; All the vain things that charm me most, I sacrifice them to His blood.

See from His head, His hands, His feet,
Sorrow and love flow mingled down!
Did e'er such love and sorrow meet,

Or thorns compose so rich a crown?

Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were a present far too small;
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all.

XLVI

Isaac Watts

ROCK OF AGES

OCK of Ages, cleft for me,

Let the water and the blood,
From Thy riven side which flowed,
Be of sin the double cure,

Cleanse me from its guilt and power.

Not the labors of my hands
Can fulfil Thy law's demands;
Could my zeal no respite know,
Could my tears forever flow,
All for sin could not atone;
Thou must save, and Thou alone.

Nothing in my hand I bring;

Simply to Thy cross I cling;
Naked, come to Thee for dress;
Helpless, look to Thee for grace;
Foul, I to the Fountain fly;
Wash me, Saviour, or I die!

While I draw this fleeting breath,
When my heartstrings break in death,

When I soar through tracts unknown,
See Thee on Thy judgment-throne;
Rock of Ages, cleft for me,

Let me hide myself in Thee!

XLVII

A. M. Toplady

HYMN FOR EASTER EVE

LL is o'er ; -the pain, the sorrow,

A Human taunts, and fiendish spite,

Death shall be despoiled to-morrow

Of the prey he grasps to-night; Yet, once more to seal His doom, Christ must sleep within the tomb.

Close and still the cell that holds Him,
While in brief repose He lies;
Deep the slumber that enfolds Him,
Veiled a while from mortal eyes:

Slumber, such as needs must be
After hard-won victory.

Fierce and deadly was the anguish
Which on yonder cross He bore;
How did soul and body languish,

Till the toil of death was o'er !
But that toil, so fierce and dread,
Bruised and crushed the serpent's head.

Whither hath His soul departed? -
Roams it on some blissful shore,

Where the meek and faithful-hearted,
Vext by this world's hate no more,
Wait until the trump of doom
Call their bodies from the tomb?

Or, on some benignant mission,
To the imprisoned spirit sent,
Hath He to their dark condition
Gleams of hope and mercy lent?
Souls not wholly lost of old
When o'er earth the deluge rolled !

Ask no more; - the abyss is deeper E'en than angels' thoughts may scan; Come and watch the Heavenly Sleeper; Come, and do what mortals can, Reverence meet toward Him to prove, Faith, and trust, and humble love.

Far away, amidst the regions

Of the bright and balmy east,

Guarded by angelic legions,

Till death's slumber shall have ceased, (How should we its stillness stir?)

Lies the Saviour's sepulchre.

Far away;

- yet thought would wander

(Thought by faith's sure guidance led) Farther yet to weep, and ponder

Over that sepulchral bed.

Thither let us haste, and flee

On the wings of phantasy.

Haste, from every clime and nation,
Fervent youth, and reverent age;