AT THE NINTH HOUR

E LI , Eli, lama sabacthani?
O sadder than the ocean's wailing moan,
Sadder than homes whence life and joy have flown,
Than graves where those we love in darkness lie;
More full of anguish than all agony
Of broken hearts, forsaken of their own
And left in hopeless misery alone,
Is this, O sweet and loving Christ, Thy cry!
For this, this only is infinite pain:
To feel that God Himself has turned away.
If He abide, all loss may still be gain,
And darkest night be beautiful as day.
But lacking Him the universe is vain,
And man's immortal soul is turned to clay.