POEMS.
43
They will make thine eyelids quiver
With their draughts of deepest woe.
Meekly bow thy head and suffer
Though thine eyes with anguish weep,
Walk beside Christ in the garden,
Close within His footsteps keep.
Fix thy gaze in mute submission
On that holy, spotless One,
Who hath suffered more than mortal
Yet hath prayed 'Thy will be done.'
In our pains He hath a feeling,
In our griefs He hath a part,
Wilt thou then not suffer gladly
Though it pierce thy wayward heart?"
As He spake I looked upon Him,
Till I thought that I could trace
In those pure, unselfish features
Glimpses of a Christ-like face!
Had He come, my loving Saviour,
To His suffering child to bring
This sweet message from my Father,
"Perfected through suffering?"
As T looked the truth flashed through me,
And I murmured o'er and o'er,
"It is He! the risen Saviour,
I will never doubt Him more!"
I could see the cruel thorn pricks
On th' uplifted brow so meek,
Till my soul was pierced with sorrow
With their draughts of deepest woe.
Meekly bow thy head and suffer
Though thine eyes with anguish weep,
Walk beside Christ in the garden,
Close within His footsteps keep.
Fix thy gaze in mute submission
On that holy, spotless One,
Who hath suffered more than mortal
Yet hath prayed 'Thy will be done.'
In our pains He hath a feeling,
In our griefs He hath a part,
Wilt thou then not suffer gladly
Though it pierce thy wayward heart?"
As He spake I looked upon Him,
Till I thought that I could trace
In those pure, unselfish features
Glimpses of a Christ-like face!
Had He come, my loving Saviour,
To His suffering child to bring
This sweet message from my Father,
"Perfected through suffering?"
As T looked the truth flashed through me,
And I murmured o'er and o'er,
"It is He! the risen Saviour,
I will never doubt Him more!"
I could see the cruel thorn pricks
On th' uplifted brow so meek,
Till my soul was pierced with sorrow
