« AnteriorContinuar »
He stood to strengthen, not to fight,
O Kedron, gloomy brook, how foul
76. Christ in the Garden. L. M. Come hither, ye that fain would know
Th' exceeding sinfulness of sin; Come see a scene of matchless wo,
And tell me what it all can mean, Behold the darling Son of God
Bowd down with horror to the ground, Wrung at the heart, and sweating blood, His eyes
in tears of sorrow drown'd; See how the victim panting lies,
His soul with bitter anguish prest! He sighs, he faints, he groans, he cries,
Dismay’d, dejected, shock’d, distrest! What pangs are these that tear bis heart?
What burden's this that's on him laid? What means this agony and smart?
What makes our Maker hang his head? 'Tis Justice, with its iron rod,
Inflicting strokes of wrath divine; "Tis the vindictive hand of God,
Incens'd at all your sins and mine.
Deep in his breast our names are cut;
He undertook our desperate debt. Such loads of guilt, were on him put,
He could but just sustain the weight. Then let us not ourselves deceive;
For, while of sin we lightly deem, Whatever notions we may have,
Indeed we are not much like him.
77. The Crucifixion. L. M. Now from the garden to the cross
Let us attend the Lamb of God; Be all things else accounted dross,
Compar'd with sin-atoning blood. See how the patient Jesus stands,
Insulted in his lowest case: Sinners have bound th' Almighty's hands,
And spit in their Creator's face. With thorns his temples gor'd and gash'd,
Send streams of blood from ev'ry part: His back with knotty scourges lash'd,
But sharper scourges tear his heart. Nail'd naked to th' accursed wood,
Expos'd to earth and heaven above,
A prodigy of injur'd love!
Affected angels, while they view;
And now his God forsakes him too!
O! what a field of battle's here!
Vengeance and love their powers oppose; Never was such a mighty pair;
Never were two such desperate foes. Behold that pale, that languid face,
That drooping head, those cold dead eyes; Behold in sorrow and disgrace,
Our conqu’ring Hero hangs and dies ! Ye that assume his sacred name,
Now tell me what can all this mean? What was it bruis'd God's harmless Lamb
What was it pierc'd his soul-but sin? Blush, christian, blush; let shame abound;
If sin affects thee not with wo, Whatever spir't be in thee found,
The spirit of Christ thou dost not know.
78. The Sufferings of Christ for his People.
L, M. And why, dear Saviour, tell me why, That thou would'st suffer, bleed and die? What mighty motive could thee move? The motive's plain ;~'twas all for love. For love of whom? Of sinners base, A harden'd herd, a rebel race; That mock'd and trampled on thy blood, And wanton'd with the wounds of God. When rocks and mountains rent with dread, And gaping graves gave up their dead; When the fair sun withdrew his light, And hid his head, to shun the sight.
Then stood the wretch of human race,