CHRIST IN THE GARDEN.
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All hail Judea, unhallowed of the Nine!
The hills and rocks, instinct with living fire, Ring with the echoes of thy prophet- lyre: Each mournful wail, each wild lament the sign And evidence of Love's concealed design;
Love, matchless and alone- its flaming pyre Hath burned into the skies, and in its line Traced out in glory- Hail to Palestine- Beauty for Salem! Ethiopian bride
Of all- pervading Light! mysterious queen Of Hope's glad city, with her gates spread wide, And jasper towers, from whose resplendent sheen
Eternity proclaimeth, deep and far,
Glory to Zion's crown, the bright, the morning star The Athenceum.
CHRIST IN THE GARDEN.
A WREATH of glory circles still His headAnd yet He kneels- and yet he seems to be Convulsed with more than human agony; On His pale brow the drops are large and red As victim's blood at votive altar shed
His hands are clasped, His eyes are raised in prayer;
Alas! and is there strife He cannot bear, Who calmed the tempest, and who raised the dead