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But, if seeing, thou believest,
If the Evangel thou receivest,
Yet, if thou art bound to sin,
False to the ideal within,
Slave of ease, or slave of gold,

Thou the Son of God hast sold.

A. C. Lynch

XXXIX

THE DEATH OF CHRIST

Lord Jesu, when we stand afar

And gaze upon Thy Holy Cross,
In love of Thee and scorn of self,
O, may we count the world as loss!

When we behold Thy bleeding wounds, And the rough way that Thou hast trod, Make us to hate the load of sin

That lay so heavy on our God.

O holy Lord! uplifted high

With outstretch'd arms, in mortal woe,
Embracing in Thy wondrous love
The sinful world that lies below:

Give us an ever living faith

To gaze beyond the things we see ; And in the mystery of Thy Death

Draw us and all men unto Thee!

William Walsham Howe

XL

GOOD FRIDAY

Bound upon th' accursèd 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 pierced,
By the baffled burning thirst,
By the drooping death-dew'd brow,
Son of Man! 'tis Thou! 'tis Thou!

Bound upon th' accursed tree,
Dread and awful, who is He?
By the sun at noonday pale,
Shivering rocks, and rending veil,

By earth that trembles at His doom,
By yonder saints, who burst their tomb,
By Eden promised, ere He died,
To the felon at His side;

Lord, our suppliant knees we bow,
Son of God! 'tis Thou! 'tis Thou!

Bound upon th' 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 chamber 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 th' 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!

XLI

Henry Hart Milman

"THEY CRUCIFIED HIM”

O come and mourn with me awhile;
O come ye to the Saviour's side;
O come, together let us mourn:
Jesus, our Lord, is crucified.

Have we no tears to shed for Him
While soldiers scoff, and Jews deride?
Ah, look how patiently He hangs;
Jesus, our Lord, is crucified.

How fast His hands and feet are nail'd;
His throat with parching thirst is dried;
His failing eyes are dimm'd with blood;
Jesus, our Lord, is crucified.

Seven times He spake, seven words of love;
And all three hours His silence cried

For mercy on the souls of men;
Jesus, our Lord, is crucified.

Come, let us stand beneath the cross;
So may the blood from out His side
Fall gently on us, drop by drop;
Jesus, our Lord, is crucified.

A broken heart, a fount of tears,
Ask, and they will not be denied ;
Lord Jesus, may we love, and weep,
Since Thou for us art crucified.

Frederic W. Faber

XLII

LITANY TO THE SAVIOUR

When our heads are bow'd with woe,
When our bitter tears o'erflow,
When we mourn the lost, the dear,
Gracious Son of Mary, hear!

Thou our throbbing flesh hast worn
Thou our mortal griefs hast borne,
Thou hast shed the human tear,
Gracious Son of Mary, hear!

When the sullen death-bell tolls
For our own departing souls ;
When our final doom is near,
Gracious Son of Mary, hear!

Thou hast bow'd the dying head;
Thou the blood of life hast shed;
Thou hast fill'd a mortal bier :
Gracious Son of Mary, hear!

When the heart is sad within
With the thought of all its sin,
When the spirit shrinks with fear,
Gracious Son of Mary, hear!

Thou the shame, the grief hast known,
Though the sins were not Thine own;
Thou hast deign'd their load to bear,
Gracious Son of Mary, hear!

Henry Hart Milman

XLIII

LITANY TO OUR LORD

Saviour, when in dust to Thee
Low we bow th' adoring knee ;
When repentant to the skies
Scarce we lift our weeping eyes;
O, by all Thy pain and woe
Suffer'd once for man below,
Bending from Thy throne on high,
Hear our solemn Litany!

By Thy helpless infant years,
By Thy life of want and tears,
By Thy days of sore distress
In the savage wilderness,

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