Alfred H. Miles, ed. The Sacred Poets of the Nineteenth Century. 1907.
By I. Birds have their quiet nestJohn Samuel Bewley Monsell (18111875)
B
Foxes their holes, and man his peaceful bed;
All creatures have their rest,
But Jesus had not where to lay His head.
The weary and the heavy-laden rest;
To bid the sinner live,
And soothe our griefs to slumber on His breast.
I who once bid His gentle spirit mourn;
Whose hand essay’d to weave
For His meek brow the cruel crown of thorn:—
Why—but for that unchanged, undying love,
Which would not, could not cease,
Until it made me heir of joys above?
I feel I never should in glory see
The brightness of that face,
Which once was pale and agonized for me!
Foxes their holes, and man his peaceful bed;
Come, Saviour, in my breast
Deign to repose Thine oft-rejected head!
The only rest on earth Thou lov’st,—within
A heart, that for Thy sake
Lies bleeding, broken, penitent for sin.