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Had done its hateful part,
By cruel scourges torn,
While many a piercing thorn Bedew'd his godlike brow with streams of blood, And the coarse rabble, with insulting cry, Taunted his patient grief, and mock’d his agony.
With parch'd and feverish tongue,
Till Earth’s convulsive groan
Proclaim'd his spirit flown, While the hills trembled, and the rocks were rent,
And heaven itself lay wrapt in distant gloom, And many a buried saint rose from his bursting tomb.
What feeling then was thine ?
Did thy pure heart repine
All sorrow slain at last,
And Death's dread empire past, Couldst thou rejoice, e'en while, thy arms enfolding
His gentle corpse in their most pure embrace, Thougаzed'stthro’thy tears on that pale lifeless face.
Return'd, he rose triumphant o'er the tomb,
Oh! shared he not with thee
In tenderest sympathy
When he, by Death's dark power
Once more on earth was seen
By faithful Magdalene ? Why heardst not thou the greeting, “ He hath
risen! Come, see the place in which the Saviour lay; The seal is broken now, the stone is roll’d away?"
That form and face revered
By that divinest voice,
By man recorded, of especial love,
Why slept his tenderness (Or seem'd to sleep) once deeply felt tow’rd thee; . Or if indeed he came
In heart and soul the same,
To lay his deathless trophies at thy feet,
Too sacred to be seen
And till thy aged breast
Sank to its final rest,
Such parting words may in its depths have dwelt · As gave thee peace and joy which none but thou have felt.
Of venturous phantasy
Almost unmeet it seems
To suffer her wild dreams
Depict thee to the mind's believing eye
Almost as angels are,
To picture thee grown old,
With wrinkled brow, and locks of hoary gray, And eye grown dim and dull by years of slow decay.
That rests upon the tomb
Nor bear, in thought, to trace
Corruption's foul embrace
Thou art too fair, too heavenly bright a thing
On thy celestial child
As many a limner's art
Of years or mortal pain, thy gentle eyes Beaming forth Heaven's own love, like gleams from Paradise.
Our foolish hearts should dwell
Remembering that of old,
Beneath the wormy mould,
Like us the grave, like us corruption saw, Subject, like us and ours, to Death's unbending law.
'Twas thine on earth to share
Whatever griefs we bear,
Our reverent hearts look back
O'er Time's mysterious track,
A Christian matron, that most holy thing Which human thought can frame in all its wandering.
Then first to rank with man,
Derives in part from thee
Her righteous victory
In thought laments, meet reverence to express To thee in Christian rights, her first great ancesXLIII.
(tress. Such honours still be thine :
Such wreaths for ever twine
Such greetings thither come,
From many a Christian home, Where wife, and husband, and glad children sing
At morn and eve their hymn of peace and love, For comfort here below, to Him who reigns above.