36
THE BROKEN SLUMBER.
O dull heart! and couldst thou slumber
When thy Lord was at the door,
And His locks with night-dews heavy?
Had He never watched before?
When thy Lord was at the door,
And His locks with night-dews heavy?
Had He never watched before?
Was there not a lonesome garden?
There that head was bowed for thee,
Where the myrrh and wormwood mingled
'Neath the mystic olive tree.
There that head was bowed for thee,
Where the myrrh and wormwood mingled
'Neath the mystic olive tree.
Didst thou, when His fond hand beckoned,
Read thy name engraved in blood?
And His footprints—dost thou follow
In the narrow path they trod?
Read thy name engraved in blood?
And His footprints—dost thou follow
In the narrow path they trod?
Heart of love, so pierced and broken!
Ah, though fierce the soldier's spear,
Yet its thrust was ne'er so cruel
As my own reluctant ear.
Ah, though fierce the soldier's spear,
Yet its thrust was ne'er so cruel
As my own reluctant ear.
Where was sorrow like His sorrow?
Nay; not since the world began
Was there one to bear the burden
That He bore—the Sinless Man!
Nay; not since the world began
Was there one to bear the burden
That He bore—the Sinless Man!
Soul! if at thy door He speaketh,
Wilt thou rise and open now?
Though the thorn-wreath be the glory
Of that bruised and bleeding brow.
Wilt thou rise and open now?
Though the thorn-wreath be the glory
Of that bruised and bleeding brow.
