He stood to strengthen, not to fight,
Justice exacts its utmost might;
This victim, vengeance will pursue:
He undertook; and must go thro'.
Three favour'd servants, lest not far,
Were bid to wait and watch the war ;
But Christ withdrawn, what watch they keep!
To shun the sight they sunk in sleep.
Backwards and forwards thrice he ran,
As if he sought some help from man ;
Or wish'd at least they would condole
('Twas all they could) his tortur'd soul.
Whate'er he sought for, there was none;
Our Captain fought the field alone;
Soon as the Chief to battle led,
That moment ev'ry soldier fled.
Mysterious conflict! Dark disguise !
Hid from all creature's peering eyes.
Angels astonish'd view'd the scene;
And wonder yet, what all could mean.
O Mount of Olives, sacred grove!
O garden, scene of tragic love!
What bitter herbs thy beds produce !
How rank their scent! how harsh their juice!
Rare virtues now these herbs contain:
The Saviour suck'd out all their bane.
My mouth with these if conscience cram,
I'll eat them with the Paschal Lamb,

O Kedron, gloomy brook, how foul
Thy black polluted waters roll !
No tongue can tell (but some can taste)
The filth that into it was cast.
In Eden's garden there was food
Of ev'ry kind for man, while good;
But banish'd thence, we fly to thee,
O garden of Gethsemane.

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.

H

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 spectacle of wounds and blood,

A prodigy of injur'd love!
Hark! how his doleful cries affright

Affected angels, while they view;
His friends forsook him in the night,

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,
And rais'd his head, and shew'd his face,
Gaz'd unconcern'd when nature fail'd;
And scoff'd, and sneer'd, and curs’d, and rail'd.
Harder than rocks and mountains are,
More dull than dirt and earth by far,
Man view'd unmov'd thy blood's rich stream;
Nor ever dream'd it flowd for him.
Such was that race of sinful men,
That gain'd that great salvation then.
Such, and such only, still we see,
Such then were all: and such are we.
The Jews with thorns his temples crown'd,
And lash'd him when his hands were bound :
But thorns, and knotted whips, and bands,
By us were furnish'd to their hands.
They nail'd him to th' accursed tree,
They did, my brethren: so did we.
The soldier pierc'd his side. · 'Tis true;
But we have pierc'd him thro' and thro',
O‘love of unexampled kind !
That leaves all thoughts so far behind;
Where length, and breadth, and depth, and

heighth,
Are lost to my astonish'd sight.
For love of me the Son of God
Drain'd every drop of vital blood.
Long time I after idols ran;
But now my God's a martyr'd man,