215
SONNET.
He who denied his Lord, at the mild gaze
Of His reproaching eye,turned round and wept;
A thousand troubled thoughts his bosom swept,
And better had he borne Heaven's angry gaze,
Than that meek glance, that look of sorrowing love,
Which with such deep remorse his bosom filled:
Ah! do not Christian duties unfulfilled,
Bear our denial to the throne above?
And, as we hear the mild and sacred law,
Which marks our faithlessness—oh! do not we
Review our careless lives indignantly,
And feel a holier hope our bosoms draw,
To that blest word, that pure, reproving light,
Which beams with Heaven's own radiance on our sight?
Of His reproaching eye,turned round and wept;
A thousand troubled thoughts his bosom swept,
And better had he borne Heaven's angry gaze,
Than that meek glance, that look of sorrowing love,
Which with such deep remorse his bosom filled:
Ah! do not Christian duties unfulfilled,
Bear our denial to the throne above?
And, as we hear the mild and sacred law,
Which marks our faithlessness—oh! do not we
Review our careless lives indignantly,
And feel a holier hope our bosoms draw,
To that blest word, that pure, reproving light,
Which beams with Heaven's own radiance on our sight?
