| |
| COLD is the wind, the scene is drear, | |
| No ray of comfort can appear | |
| For Him who comforts all: | |
| Angels reluctant fold their plumes | |
| As the great Foe his post assumes | 5 |
| Upon the field to fall. | |
| |
| Yet some brief triumph is at hand, | |
| Such as the Serpent may command | |
| To bruise Emmanuel’s Heel; | |
| And through the centre of His Heart | 10 |
| Send, dipt in poison, many a dart, | |
| He bitterly must feel. | |
| |
| For, lo! o’er Cedron’s shallow stream, | |
| See how those lurid torches gleam | |
| In fitful streaks of light: | 15 |
| Weapons of war are glittering there, | |
| The sword that knows not how to spare | |
| Either by day or night. | |
| |
| And one before the rest advances | |
| Just as a Demon, when he glances | 20 |
| Upon some spotless prey: | |
| And clothes himself in gentle form, | |
| Lest, prescient of the coming storm, | |
| The prize should pass away. | |
| |
| O meek Redeemer, dost Thou move | 25 |
| To meet the Traitor, and reprove | |
| That execrable kiss? | |
| Yielding Thyself for sinful man, | |
| Whose life on earth is but a span— | |
| Was ever Love like this? | 30 |
| |
| Alas! for me the guilt is mine | |
| Whene’er against Thy will benign | |
| My treacherous heart hath stood: | |
| Mine are the lips that have betrayed, | |
| Mine is the debt which must be paid | 35 |
| With Groans, and Tears, and Blood. | |
| |
