Classic Poem

Throughout the Saviour's Life we trace,
Nothing but Shame and deep Disgrace,
No period else is seen;
Till he a spotless Victim fell,
Tasting in Soul a painful Hell,
Caus'd by the Creature's Sin.

On the cold Ground methinks I see
My Jesus kneel, and pray for me;
For this I him adore;
Siez'd with a chilly sweat throughout,
Blood-drops did force their Passage out
Through ev'ry open'd Pore.

A pricking Thorn his Temples bore;
His Back with Lashes all was tore,
Till one the Bones might see;
Mocking, they push'd him here and there,
Marking his Way with Blood and Tear,
Press'd by the heavy Tree.

Thus up the Hill he painful came,
Round him they mock, and make their Game,
At length his Cross they rear:
And can you see the mighty God,
Cry out beneath sin's heavy Load,
Without one thankful Tear?

Thus vailed in Humanity,
He dies in Anguish on the Tree;
What Tongue his Grief can tell?
The shudd'ring Rocks their Heads recline,
The mourning Sun refuse to shine,
When the Creator fell.

Shout, Brethren, shout in songs divine,
He drank the Gall, to give us Wine,
To quench our parching Thirst;
Seraphs advance your Voices higher;
Bride of the Lamb, unite the Choir,
And Laud thy precious Christ.