The Passion of Christ.

When he had scourged him, and the soldiers led him away into the hall called Pretorium, they platted a crown of thorns and put it about his head, and they clothed him with purple, and began to salute him, and bowing their knees, worshiped him, "Hail, King of the Jews!"-ST. MARK XV. 15–18.

HATRED eternal, furious revenging,
Merciless raging, bloody persecuting,
Scandalous speeches, odious revilings,
Causeless abhorring;

Impious scoffings by the very abjects,
Dangerous threatenings by the priests anointed,
Death full of torment in a shameful order,
Christ did abide here.

He, that in glory was above the angels,
Changed his glory for an earthly body,

Yielded his glory to a sinful outcast,
Glory refusing.

Me, that in bondage many sins retained

He for his goodness-for his goodness only

Brought from hell's torments to the joys of heaven,

Not to be numbered;

THE PASSION OF CHRIST.

Dead in offenses, by his aid revived,

Quickened in spirit by the grace he yieldeth :
Sound then his praises to the world's amazement,
Thankfully singing.

Francis Davidson.*

* His poems were first published in 1602.

The Wine and Myrrh.

And they bring him unto the place Golgotha, which is, being interpreted, The place of a skull. And they gave him to drink wine mingled with myrrh: but he received it not.-ST. MARK XV. 22, 23.

"FILL high the bowl, and spice it well, and pour
The dews oblivious: for the Cross is sharp,

The Cross is sharp, and He

Is tenderer than a lamb.

He wept by Lazarus' grave-How will He bear
This bed of anguish? and his pale weak form
Is worn with many a watch

Of sorrow and unrest.

His sweat last night was as great drops of blood,
And the sad burden press'd him so to earth,

The very torturers paused

To help Him on His way.

Fill high the bowl, benumb His aching sense
With medicin'd sleep."-O awful is thy woe!
The parching thirst of death

In on Thee, and thou triest

176

THE WINE AND MYRRH.

The slumberous potion bland, and will not drink :

Not sullen, nor in scorn, like haughty man

With suicidal hand

Putting his solace by :

But as at first thy all-pervading look
Saw from thy Father's bosom to th' abyss,
Measuring in calm presage

The infinite descent;

So to the end, though now of mortal pangs

Made heir, and emptied of thy glory awhile,

With unaverted eye

Thou meetest all the storm.

Thou wilt feel all, that Thou may'st pity all;

And rather would'st Thou wrestle with strong pain,
Than overcloud thy soul,

So clear in agony,

Or lose one glimpse of heaven before the time.

O most entire and perfect sacrifice,

Renewed in every pulse
That on the tedious Cross

Told the long hours of death, as, one by one,
The life-strings of that tender heart gave way;
Even sinners, taught by Thee,

Look Sorrow in the face,

THE WINE AND MYRRH.

And bid her freely welcome, unbeguiled

By false kind solaces, and spells of earth:-
And yet not all unsoothed;

For when was joy so dear,

As the deep calm that breathed, "Father, forgive."
Or "Be with me in Paradise to-day?"

And, though the strife be sore,

Yet in His parting breath

Love masters agony; the soul that seemed
Forsaken, feels her present God again,

And in her Father's arms

Contented dies away.

12

John Keble.

177