They dragged Thee to the Roman's solemn hall,
Where the proud judge in purple splendour sate;
Thou stoodst a meek and patient criminal,

Thy doom of death from human lips to wait;
Whose throne shall be the world

In final ruin hurled,

With all mankind to hear their everlasting fate.

Thou wert alone in that fierce multitude,

When "Crucify him!" yelled the general shout;
No hand to guard Thee mid those insults rude,
Nor lip to bless in all that frantic rout;

Whose lightest whispered word

The Seraphim had heard,

And adamantine arms from all the heavens broke out.

They bound Thy temples with the twisted thorn,
Thy bruised feet went languid on with pain;
The blood, from all Thy flesh with scourges torn,
Deepened Thy robe of mockery's crimson grain;
Whose native vesture bright

Was the unapproached light,

The sandal of whose foot the rapid hurricane.

They smote Thy cheek with many a ruthless palm;

With the cold spear Thy shuddering side they pierced;

The draught of bitterest gall was all the balm

They gave, t'enhance Thy unslaked, burning thirst :

Thou, at whose words of peace

Did pain and anguish cease,

And the long-buried dead their bonds of slumber burst.

Low bowed Thy head convulsed, and, drooped in death, Thy voice sent forth a sad and wailing cry ;

Slow struggled from Thy breast the parting breath, limb was wrung with agony.

And every

That head, whose veilless blaze

Filled angels with amaze,

When at that voice sprang forth the rolling suns on high.

And Thou wert laid within the narrow tomb,

Thy clay-cold limbs with shrouding grave-clothes bound;

The sealed stone confirmed Thy mortal doom,
Lone watchmen walked thy desert burial-ground;
Whom heaven could not contain,

Nor th' immeasurable plain

Of vast Infinity inclose or circle round.

For us, for us, Thou didst endure the pain,
And Thy meek spirit bowed itself to shame,
To wash our souls from sin's infecting stain,
T'avert the Father's wrathful vengeance flame :
Thou, that couldst nothing win

By saving worlds from sin,

Nor aught of glory add to Thy all-glorious name.

DEVOUT MEN CARRIED STEPHEN TO HIS BURIAL."

BROTHER, thou art gone before

us,

And thy saintly soul is flown
Where tears are wiped from every eye,

And sorrow is unknown :

From the burthen of the flesh,

And from care and fear released,
Where the wicked cease from troubling,
And the weary are at rest.

The toilsome way thou'st travelled o'er,
And borne the heavy load,

But Christ hath taught thy languid feet

To reach his blest abode.

Thou'rt sleeping now, like Lazarus

Upon his father's breast,

Where the wicked cease from troubling,

And the weary are at rest,

Sin can never taint thee now,

Nor doubt thy faith assail,

Nor thy meek trust in Jesus Christ
And the Holy Spirit fail.

And there thou'rt sure to meet the good,
Whom on earth thou lovedst best,
Where the wicked cease from troubling,
And the weary are at rest.

"Earth to earth," and "Dust to dust,"

The solemn priest hath said,

So we lay the turf above thee now,

And we seal thy narrow bed:

But thy spirit, brother, soars away
Among the faithful blest,

Where the wicked cease from troubling,

And the weary are at rest.

And when the Lord shall summon us,

Whom thou hast left behind, May we, untainted by the world,

As sure a welcome find;

May each, like thee, depart in peace,

To be a glorious guest,

Where the wicked cease from troubling,

And the weary are at rest.

"AND THE SMOKE WENT UP, AS THE SMOKE OF A

FURNACE."

THE wind blows chill across those gloomy waves,
Oh! how unlike the green and dancing main!
The surge is foul as if it rolled o'er graves;—
Stranger, here lie the cities of the plain!

Yes, on that plain, by wild waves covered now,
Rose palace once, and sparking pinnacle.
On pomp and spectacle beamed morning's glow,
On pomp and festival the twilight fell.

Lovely and splendid all,-but Sodom's soul

Was stained with blood, and pride, and perjury. Long warned, long spared, till her whole heart was foul, And fiery vengeance on its clouds came nigh!

And still she mocked, and danced, and taunting, spoke
Her sportive blasphemies against the Throne.-
It came the thunder on her slumber broke:

God spake the word of wrath! Her dream was done.