44
POEMS.
With the love it could not speak.
Then I knew my Saviour truly
By His wounded hands and feet,
By His untold look of yearning
And His accents calm and sweet.
Saying, "Thou art sick and weary,
I was weary, too, and faint,
And my heart was broken daily
With a grief no words can paint.
For the whole world mocked My anguish,
None had sorrow like to Mine,
But I bore it uncomplaining
For the sake of souls like thine.
I, thy crucified Redeemer,
Hung upon th' accursed tree,
For the love I bore My people
Who felt only scorn for Me!
Oh! beloved child, the Father
Chastens those He loveth best,
Though His ways seem oft mysterious
Fraught with trouble and unrest.
Wilt thou shrink to drink the waters
Of the cup I hold to thee?
Well I know the dregs are bitter,
Yet I bid thee drink to Me.
Thou shalt share with Me My glory,
Never any toil or strife
Shall thy spirit know hereafter
In the true and better life
Then I knew my Saviour truly
By His wounded hands and feet,
By His untold look of yearning
And His accents calm and sweet.
Saying, "Thou art sick and weary,
I was weary, too, and faint,
And my heart was broken daily
With a grief no words can paint.
For the whole world mocked My anguish,
None had sorrow like to Mine,
But I bore it uncomplaining
For the sake of souls like thine.
I, thy crucified Redeemer,
Hung upon th' accursed tree,
For the love I bore My people
Who felt only scorn for Me!
Oh! beloved child, the Father
Chastens those He loveth best,
Though His ways seem oft mysterious
Fraught with trouble and unrest.
Wilt thou shrink to drink the waters
Of the cup I hold to thee?
Well I know the dregs are bitter,
Yet I bid thee drink to Me.
Thou shalt share with Me My glory,
Never any toil or strife
Shall thy spirit know hereafter
In the true and better life
