Walk in the light! and e'en the tomb For Christ hath conquer'd there! "I LAY IT DOWN OF MYSELF." HE wept by Lazarus' grave-how will He bear Of sorrow and unrest. Oh! fill the bowl! benumb His aching sense With medicined sleep.-Oh! awful in Thy woe! The parched thirst of death Is on Thee, and Thou triest The slumb❜rous potion bland, and wilt not drink! Not sullen nor in scorn, like haughty man With suicidal hand Putting His solace by : But as at first, thine all-pervading look Saw from Thy Father's bosom to th' abyss, Measuring in calm presage The infinite descent ; So to the end, though now of mortal pangs Made heir, and emptied of Thy glory awhile, With unaverted eye Thou meetest all the storm. BEHOLD, HE PRAYETH!" SWEET is the prayer, whose holy stream And warm and warmer grows: Faith grasps the blessings she desires; But sweeter far the still small voice, Heard by no human ear; When God has made the heart rejoice, And dried the bitter tear; Deep in the Bethel of the heart, Unearthly feelings throb; They cannot into language start, Their only vent, a sob. |