THE GOODNESS OF GOD.

29

The ploughers make long furrows there, Till all his body is one wound.

3 Nor can he thus their hate assuage; His innocence, to death pursued, Must fully glut their utmost rage: Hark! how they clamour for his blood! 4" To us our own Barabbas give!

Away with him,"( they loudly cry,) " Away with him, not fit to live, The vile seducer crucify!"

5 His sacred limbs they stretch, they tear, With nails they fasten to the wood; His sacred limbs,-exposed and bare, Or only cover'd with his blood.

6 See there his temples crown'd with thorn, His bleeding hands extended wide, His streaming feet transfix'd and torn, The fountain gushing from his side! 7 Where is the King of Glory now!

The everlasting Son of God! The' Immortal hangs his languid brow; The' Almighty faints beneath his load! 8 Beneath my load he faints and dies:

I fill'd his soul with pangs unknown: I caused those mortal groans and cries, I kill'd the Father's only Son!

HYMN 25.

L. M.

PART II.

THOU dear suffering Son of God,

0

How doth thy heart to sinners move! Help me to catch thy precious blood; Help me to taste thy dying love. 2 Give me to feel thy agonies;

One drop of thy sad cup afford: I fain with thee would sympathize,

And share the sufferings of my Lord.

1