DEAN MILMAN, for ten years Professor of Poetry at Oxford, was born in London, Feb. 10, 1791, and died Sept. 24, 1868. He was at the time of his death Dean of St. Paul's. He is known as the historian of Latin Christianity, and as author of a number of other important works. WHEN Our heads are bowed with woe, Thou our throbbing flesh hast worn, Thou, the shame, the grief hast known; 1827. HENRY HART MILMAN, D. D. GETHSEMANE. BEYOND where Cedron's waters flow, Behold the suffering Saviour go To sad Gethsemane; His countenance is all divine, He bows beneath the sins of men; In sad Gethsemane; He lifts his mournful eyes above: "My Father, can this cup remove?" With gentle resignation still He yielded to his Father's will, "Behold me here, thine only Son; And, Father, let thy will be done." The Father heard; and angels there Sustained the son of God in prayer, In sad Gethsemane ; He drank the dreadful cup of pain, Then rose to life and joy again. When storms of sorrow round us sweep, And scenes of anguish make us weep, To sad Gethsemane We'll look, and see the Saviour there, And humbly bow like him in prayer. SAMUEL FRANCIS SMITH, D. D. 1832. CHRIST OUR EXAMPLE IN SUFFERING. Go to dark Gethsemane, Ye that feel the Tempter's power; Your Redeemer's conflict see: Watch with him one bitter hour: Turn not from his griefs away; Learn of Jesus Christ to pray. Follow to the judgment-hall; View the Lord of life arraigned. Oh, the wormwood and the gall! Oh, the pangs his soul sustained! Shun not suffering, shame, or loss: Learn of him to bear the cross. Calvary's mournful mountain climb; God's own sacrifice complete. See how the nails those hands And feet so tender rend; See down his face and neck and breast His sacred blood descend. Hark, with what awful cry His spirit takes its flight, That cry, it smote his mother's heart, And wrapt her soul in night. Earth hears, and to its base Rocks wildly to and fro; How doth the ensanguined thorny crown He bows his head, and forth at last Yet even after death his heart Beneath the wine-press of God's wrath Tombs burst; seas, rivers, mountains quake; Till for himself, O wondrous love! HEAVIER THE CROSS. "Je grösser Kreuz, je näher Himmel." HEAVIER the cross, the nearer heaven; No cross without, no God within! Death, judgment from the heart are driven, Amid the world's false glare and din. Oh, happy he, with all his loss, Whom God hath set beneath the cross. Heavier the cross, the better Christian; This is the touchstone God applies. How many a garden would be wasting Unwet by showers from weeping eyes! The gold by fire is purified; The Christian is by trouble tried. Heavier the cross, the stronger faith: When men have pressed the clustered fruit; From vales we climb to mountain-crest; - 'ALL is o'er, the pain, the sorrow, Human taunts, and fiendish spite, Death shall be despoiled to-morrow Of the prey he grasps to-night; Close and still the cell that holds him, Veiled awhile from mortal eyes, - Fierce and deadly was the anguish Till the toil of death was o'er! Whither hath his soul departed? Roams it on some blissful shore, Wait until the trump of doom Or, on some benignant mission, Gleams of hope and mercy lent? Ask no more, the abyss is deeper Far away amidst the regions Of the bright and balmy East, Till death's slumber shall have ceased, Far away; yet thought would wander Over that sepulchral bed. |