THE CHRISTIAN YEAR.
21
On that one triumphant Day.
Though they shout, He weeps aloud
O'er the self-deceiving crowd.
Through that Week we see Him bear
Anguish none can know or share;
On Good Friday follow Him
Scourged and bruised in every limb,
And with thorns in insult crowned.
While the foes that Him surround
Gibes and jeers incessant toss
On the Altar of the Cross,
We behold Him meekly die
For the world's iniquity.
Every Friday for His sake
Let us here our station take,
At His feet confession making,
Self and sin abhorred foraking.
Though they shout, He weeps aloud
O'er the self-deceiving crowd.
Through that Week we see Him bear
Anguish none can know or share;
On Good Friday follow Him
Scourged and bruised in every limb,
And with thorns in insult crowned.
While the foes that Him surround
Gibes and jeers incessant toss
On the Altar of the Cross,
We behold Him meekly die
For the world's iniquity.
Every Friday for His sake
Let us here our station take,
At His feet confession making,
Self and sin abhorred foraking.
Easter-Even: Hour of rest;
Faith's sweet vigil calm and blest.
In the tomb His Body lies,
And His Soul in Paradise
Waits the morn when He shall rise.
Here we watch and watching ponder
On the never-lessened wonder,
How from Baptism we emerge
On the new life's trembling verge,
In His death the "old man" dead
And the "new man" raised instead.
Faith's sweet vigil calm and blest.
In the tomb His Body lies,
And His Soul in Paradise
Waits the morn when He shall rise.
Here we watch and watching ponder
On the never-lessened wonder,
How from Baptism we emerge
On the new life's trembling verge,
In His death the "old man" dead
And the "new man" raised instead.
