Page:Poems Welby.djvu/152

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144
Till it seemed that an angel had brightened the sod
And brought to each bosom a message from God.

He spoke of the Saviour—what pictures he drew!
The scene of His sufferings rose clear on my view—
The cross—the rude cross where he suffered and died,
The gush of bright crimson that flowed from His side,
The cup of his sorrows, the wormwood and gall,
The darkness that mantled the earth as a pall,
The garland of thorns, and the demon-like crews.
Who knelt as they scoffed Him—"Hail King of the Jews!"

He spake, and it seemed that his statue-like form
Expanded and glowed as his spirit grew warm—
His tone so impassioned, so melting his air,
As touched with compassion, he ended in prayer,
His hands clasped above him, his blue orbs upthrown,
Still pleading for sins that were never his own.
While that mouth, where such sweetness ineffable clung,
Still spoke, though expression had died on his tongue.

O God! what emotions the speaker awoke!
A mortal he seemed—yet a deity spoke;
A man—yet so far from humanity riven!
On earth—yet so closely connected with heaven!
How oft in my fancy I've pictured him there.
As he stood in that triumph of passion and prayer.
With his eyes closed in rapture—their transient eclipse
Made bright by the smiles, that illumined his lips.