Nor o'er Thy cross the clouds of vengeance brake ;
A little while the conscious earth did shake
At that foul deed by her fierce children done;
A few dim hours of day

The world in darkness lay;

Then bask'd in bright repose beneath the cloudless

sun:

While Thou didst sleep beneath the tomb,
Consenting to Thy doom;

Ere yet the white-robed angel shone
Upon the sealed stone.

And when Thou didst arise, Thou didst not stand
With devastation in Thy red right hand,
Plaguing the guilty city's murderous crew;
But Thou didst haste to meet

Thy mother's coming feet,

And bear the words of peace unto the faithful few.
Then calmly, slowly didst Thou rise

Into Thy native skies,

Thy human form dissolved on high

In its own radiancy.

FUNERAL ANTHEM.

BROTHER, thou art gone before us, and thy saintly soul is flown

Where tears are wiped from every eye, and sorrow is unknown;

From the burden of the flesh, and from care and fear released,

Where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.

The toilsome way thou'st travell'd o'er, and borne the

heavy load,

But Christ hath taught thy languid feet to reach His

blest abode;

Thou'rt sleeping now, like Lazarus upon his father's breast,

Where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.

Sin can never taint thee now, nor doubt thy faith assail,

Nor thy meek trust in Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit fail,

And there thou'rt sure to meet the good, whom on earth thou lovedst best,

Where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.

"Earth to earth," and "dust to dust," the solemn priest hath said,

So we lay the turf above thee now, and seal thy narrow

bed;

But thy spirit, brother, soars away among the faithful

blest,

Where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.

And when the Lord shall summon us, whom thou hast left behind,

May we, untainted by the world, as sure a welcome

find;

May each, like thee, depart in peace, to be a glorious

guest,

Where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.

ON THE PASSION OF CHRIST.

66

FROM THE MARTYR OF ANTIOCH."

FOR Thou didst die for me, O Son of God!
By Thee the throbbing flesh of man was worn ;
Thy naked feet the thorns of sorrow trod,
And tempests beat Thy houseless head forlorn ;-
Thou that wert wont to stand

Alone on God's right hand,

Before the ages were, the' Eternal, Eldest-born.

Thy birthright in the world was pain and grief,
Thy love's return, ingratitude and hate ;
The limbs Thou healedst brought Thee no relief,
The eyes Thou openedst calmly view'd Thy fate ;—
Thou that wert wont to dwell

In peace tongue cannot tell,

Nor heart conceive the bliss of Thy celestial state.

They dragg'd Thee to the Roman's solemn hall, Where the proud judge in purple splendour sate;

Thou stood'st, a meek and patient criminal,

Thy doom of death from human lips to wait ;—
Whose throne shall be the world

In final ruin hurl'd,

With all mankind to hear their everlasting fate.

Thou wert alone in that fierce multitude

When "Crucify him” yell'd the general shout; No hand to guard Thee 'mid those insults rude, Nor lips to bless in all that frantic rout ;— Whose lightest whisper'd word

The seraphim had heard,

And adamantine arms from all the heavens broke out.

They bound Thy temples with the twisted thorn;
Thy bruiséd feet went languid on with pain;
The blood, from all Thy flesh with scourges torn,
Deepen'd Thy robe of mockery's crimson grain ;-
Whose native vesture bright

Was the unapproached light,

The sandal of whose foot-the rapid hurricane.

They smote Thy cheek with many a ruthless palm; With the cold spear Thy shuddering side they pierced;

The draught of bitterest gall was all the balm

They gave to enhance Thy unslaked burning, thirst;

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,
And every limb was wrung with agony ;-

That head whose veilless 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 confirm'd Thy mortal doom;

Lone watchmen walk'd Thy desert burial-ground;Whom heaven could not contain,

Nor the immeasurable plain

Of vast infinity enclose or circle round.

For us, for us Thou didst endure the pain,
And Thy meek spirit bow'd itself to shame,
To wash our souls from sin's infecting stain,
To' 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.

COVENTRY PATMORE.

FROM "THE ANGEL IN THE HOUSE."

*

My prayers for her being done, I took
Occasion by the quiet hour

To find and know, by Rule and Book,
The rights of love's beloved power.
Fronting the question without ruth,
Not ignorant that, evermore,
If men will stoop to kiss the Truth,

She lifts them higher than before,