O, look, behold his temples pierced,
All with a thorny crown;
While in his hands a reed they placed,
And mocked his dying groans.
He traveled through Jerusalem,
As also Galilee;
Come let your heart in faith expand,
To Jesus on the tree.
O, now behold his heaving breast,
I thirst, I thirst, he cried;
A sponge with vinegar they filled,
And to his mouth applied.
O, look, behold the cursed spear,
Sink deep into his side;
See blood and water hast'ning out,
Salvation's healing tide.
The temple's veil was rent in twain,
The mountains hid their head;
The turfy graves refused to hold,
Their long secreted dead.
The sleeping saints were then around,
To view a suffering God;
The planets ceased their course to run,
The sun in mourning stood.
'Twas there they hung two guilty thieves,
Beside the King of heaven;
While one impenitent remained,
The other was forgiven.
Almighty God I pray give ear,
And thy good spirit send;
And to my brother dear be thou,
A Savior and a friend.
Come brother now I pray give ear,
And lay false doctrines by;
Forsake destructive error's path,
And with the truth comply.
Awake thou slumbering sinner wake,
Before it is too late;
He bled upon the shameful tree,
Ah, yes he died for you and me ;
He hung upon the shameful cross,
That sinful man might not be lost.
A crown of thornes his temples tore,
Behold him stained with purple gore;
His sighs and groans, all nature shook.
The sleeping saints their graves forsook;
The sun refused to view the sight,
And nature robed herself in night.
The sun withdrew his brilliant rays,
The planets stopped in awe to gaize;
When on mount calvary he died,
A ransom there he did provide;
That all to God might freely come,
And plead the merits of his son.
He left the shiuing courts above,
His bosom heaved with purest love;
He trod the wine press all alone,
Such love by man was never known;
He drank the worm-wood and the gall,
And on his fathers name did call.
fle in the gloomy garden prayed,
And on the cold damp ground he laid;
O, Father let thy will be done,
And glorify thy only son;
My life I'll freely yield it up,
I'll freely drink the bitter cup.
'Tis done, tis done, the Savior cried,
Then bowed his Godlike head and died;
He yielded up his sinless breath,
He passed the gloomy gates of death ;
The guarded tomb could not contain,
The Lord of Glory rose again.
He sits enthroned above the skies,
His love and pity never dies;
He shows his hands, he shows his side,
Father forgive them I have died;
O, will you turn and seek his face,
He'll lead you on from grace to grace.
Let angels hear the joyful news,
That you no more his grace refuse ;
That to his grace you now submit,
And meekly bending at his feet;
Eternal life you now receive,
And his kind spirit cease to grieve.
With angels then you'll sweetly sing,
On harps of gold that near unstring;
And palms of victory you will bear,
And in God's glory have a share;
A crown of glory he will give,
If you will turn to him and live.
His mercies they are large and free,
His love and pity flowed to me;
Against him long I did rebel,
But he has saved my soul from hell;
In him my soul doth now confide,
His word shall be my only guide.
Though life's conflicts have been severe, My compass oft I've lost;
Soon through the straits of death I sail, No more to bear the cross.
My pilot and my captain too,
In them I will confide;
Oft have they sailed along this way,
Each an unerring guide.
My sounding line I've often cast.
But could no bottom find;
No anchorage ground could I obtain,
In that tempestuous clime.
The whirlpool of dispair I've shared,
The quicksands I have passed;
Though rude winds toss my shattered bark,
I'll reach my home at last.
My captain he will land my bark,
My voyage will soon be o'er;
No more on heaving billows tossed,
In glory I will moor.
No poisonous breath pollutes the air,
In that celestial clime;
There sainted spirits ever reign,
Their glories all divine.
The port of glory heaves in view,
My sails are all in trim;
O, how I long to go on shore,
And with the angels sing.
THE PARABLE OF THE FIG TREE.
He spake also this parable: A certain man had a figtres planted in his vineyard: and he came and sought fruit thereon, and found none. Then said he unto the dresser of his vineyard, Behold, these three yearɛ I come seeking fruit on this fig tres, and find none; cut it down: why cumbereth it the ground 7 And he a swering, said unto him, Lord, let it alone this year also, till I dig about it, and dung it: And if it bear fruit, well: and if not, then after that thou shalt cut it down.-Luke 13: 6 to 9. The Pharisce stood and prayed thus with himself, Go
I thank thee, that I am not as other men ará, ext
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