*

HIS OWN RECEIVED HIM NOT.

Man had no love to give thee here,
No words of peace, no look of cheer;
No tenderness his heart could move;
He gave thee hatred for thy love.

Thy best of love to him was given,
The freest, truest grace of heaven;
His worst of Hatred fell on thee,
His worst of scorn and enmity.

Life, as its gift for him, thy love
Brought in its fullness from above;
Death, of all deaths the sharpest, he,
In his deep hate, prepared for thee.

O love and hate! thus face to face
Ye meet in this strange meeting-place!
O sin and grace, O death and life,
Who, who shall conquer in this strife?

"Father, forgive," is love's lone cry,
While hatred's crowd, cries "Crucify,"
How deeply man his God doth hate!
God's love to man, how true and great!

Love bows the head in dying woe,
And hatred seems to triumph now;
Life into death is fading fast,

And death seems conqueror at last.

But night is herald of the day,

And hate's dark triumph but makes way
For love's eternal victory,

When life shall live, and death shall die.

Horatius Bonar.

Mary at the Cross.

Now there stood by the cross of Jesus, his mother, and his mother's sister, Mary the wife of Cleophas, and Mary Magdalene.-ST. JOHN xix. 25.

By his gibbet, she who bore him

Stood in tears; while, trickling o'er him,

Piteously the blood-drops stole.

Grief and woe her bosom harrow;

Lo! the seer's prophetic arrow

Now indeed "hath pierced her soul."

See how sorrowful and lonely

Stands that mother, while her only
Blessed Son in torture hangs!
Man's redemption the achievement,
But how bitter the bereavement;
How acute the mother's pangs!

Is there one, whose heart so leaden,
Cold indifference could deaden

At that scene of wondrous woe-
To behold that sainted being
Anguished beyond measure, seeing

What our Lord must undergo?

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MARY AT THE CROSS.

Such the price of man's transgression,
Such the godlike intercession

Of her wounded, dying Son!
Whom she watches, broken-hearted,
Till his spirit hath departed—
Till the deed of blood is done.

Blessed Mary! let me share in

Thy affliction; let me bear in

Thy o'erpowering grief some part:
Let me in thy sorrows mingle;
Let devotion, pure and single,

For thy Son possess my heart.

Holy mother! grant this favor:
Let the sufferings of my Saviour
Sink into my bosom's core;
Let me dwell with deep affection,
Sad and frequent recollection,

On the torments that he bore;

Let me sorrow with thee truly;
Let me bear my portion duly

Of his cross, and while I live,

Stand in spirit by his gibbet,
Grief and love with thee exhibit,
Sympathy and homage give.

Virgin mother! purest maiden!
While thy heart with grief is laden,

Mine a true compunction needs; Be the death of Christ aye present To my thoughts, and urge incessant On to penitential deeds.

Let the cross guard and protect me,
Through the paths of life direct me;
Through the sufferings of Christ
May I, when this clay shall moulder,
Of God's vision a beholder,

Joy with thee imparadised!

"Stabat Mater."

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