Fling out the Banner! Sin-sick souls,
That sink and perish in the strife,
Shall touch in faith its radiant hem,
And spring immortal into life.
Fling out the Banner! Let it float
Skyward and seaward, high and wide;
Our glory, only in the Cross,
Our only hope, the Crucified.
Fling out the Banner! Wide and high,
Seaward and skyward, let it shine:
Nor skill, nor might, nor merit, ours;
We conquer only in that sign.
WHEREFORE WEEP WE OVER JESUS? (Weint nicht über Fesu Schmerzen.)
By the Rev. PHILIP SPITTA, died 1859. Translated by RICHARD MASSIE, 1860 "Weep not for me, but weep for yourselves.” — Luke xxiii. 28.
WHEREFORE weep we over Jesus,
O'er His death and bitter smart?
Weep we rather that He sees us
Unconvinced and hard of heart;
For His soul was never tainted
With the smallest spot or stain :
"Twas for us He was acquainted
With such depths of grief and pain.
WHEREFORE WEEP WE OVER JESUS?
Oh! what profits it with groaning
Underneath His cross to stand;
Oh! what profits our bemoaning
His pale brow and bleeding hand?
Wherefore gaze on Him expiring,
Railed at, pierced, and crucified,
Whilst we think not of inquiring,
Wherefore, and for whom He died?
If no sin could be discovered
In the pure and spotless Lord,
If the cruel death He suffered
Is sin's just and meet reward:
Then it must have been for others
That the Lord on Calvary bled,
And the guilt have been a brother's,
Which was laid upon His head.
And for whom hath He contended
In a strife so strange and new?
And for whom to hell descended?
Brothers! 'twas for me and you!
Now you see that He was reaping
Punishment for us alone;
And we have great cause for weeping,
Not for His guilt, but our own.
If we then make full confession,
Joined with penitence and prayer,
If we see our own transgression
In the punishment He bare,
If we mourn with true repentance,
We shall hear the Saviour say,
"Fear not: I have borne your sentence;
Wipe your bitter tears away."
RIDE ON, RIDE ON IN MAJESTY
Christ's final entrance into Jerusalem. John xii. 12-15. By the Very Rev. HENRY HART MILMAN, D.D.; b. London, 1791; since 1849, Dean of St. Paul's; author of History of Latin Christianity," &c. His poetical works were published 1839, in 3 vols. 12mo. He died Sept. 1868.
IDE on, ride on in majesty!
In lowly pomp ride on to die:
O Christ! Thy triumphs now begin
O'er captive death and conquered sin.
Ride on, ride on in majesty!
The winged squadrons of the sky
Look down, with sad and wondering eyes,
To see th' approaching sacrifice.
Ride on, ride on in majesty!
Thy last and fiercest strife is nigh:
The Father, on His sapphire throne,
Expects His own anointed Son.
BOUND UPON THE ACCURSÈD TREE.
Ride on, ride on in majesty!
In lowly pomp ride on to die:
Bow Thy meek head to mortal pain;
Then take, O God, Thy power, and reign!
BOUND UPON THE ACCURSED TREE.
Dr. HENRY HART MILMAN, Dean of St. Paul's, London; d. 1868.
BOUND upon th' accursed 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-dewed brow:
Son of Man, 'tis Thou! 'tis Thou!
Bound upon th' accursed tree,
Dread and awful, who is He?
By the sun at noon-day 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 spoiled 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!
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