A Vision from the "Drama of Exile." CHRIST. THEN in the noon of time, shall one from heaven, EVE. O pale pathetic Christ-I worship thee! I thank thee for that woman! CHRIST. For, at last, I, wrapping round me your humanity, Which, being sustained, shall neither break nor burn And ransom you and it, and set strong peace 14 VISION FROM THE "DRAMA OF EXILE." I will confront your sins. And since your sins Of kingly whiteness shall be crowned anew As I shall be uplifted on a cross Look on me! In darkness of eclipse, and anguish dread, And let you through to mercy. Elizabeth Barrett Browning. CHRIST AND THE TWELVE. Hymn to the Saviour. OH! Thou didst die for me, thou Son of God! And tempests beat thy houseless head forlorn. Before the ages were, the Eternal, eldest born. Thy birthright in the world was pain and grief, In peace, tongue can not tell, No Heart conceive the bliss of thy celestial state. 16 HYMN TO THE SAVIOUR. They dragged thee to the Roman's solemn hall, Thy doom of death from human lips to wait; In final ruin hurl'd, With all mankind to hear their everlasting fate. Thou wert alone in that fierce multitude, When "Crucify him!" yelled the general shout; The Seraphim had heard, And adamantine arms from all the heavens broke out. They bound thy temples with the twisted thorn, Was the unapproached light, The sandal of whose feet the rapid hurricane. They smote thy cheek with many a ruthless palm, The draught of bitterest gall was all the balm They gave t' enhance thy unslaked, burning thirst; HYMN TO THE SAVIOUR. 17 Thou, at whose words of peace. Did pain and anguish cease, And the long-buried dead their bonds of slumber burst. Low bow'd thy head convulsed, and droop'd in death, Thy voice sent forth a sad and wailing cry ; Slow struggled from thy breast the parting breath, That head, whose vail-less blaze Fill'd 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 enclose our circle round. For us, for us, thou didst endure the pain, To wash our souls from sin's infecting stain, འ 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. 2 H. H. Milman. |