GETHSEMANE. Who is the King of Glory, who ?— The Lord that all our foes o'ercame : Lo! his triumphal chariot waits, Who is the King of Glory, who?— The King of saints and angels too; God over all, forever blessed! CHARLES WESLEY. I Gethsemane. READ how, in Gethsemane, The suffering Saviour bowed the knee : My tears fell fast upon the book,— It was so grandly sad to read. Of Him, in darkness, grief, and need- Through all thy shades, Gethsemane, I too had my Gethsemane : The hour of darkness came to me, In grief and fear I drank, alas, I found the One who died for me. WILLIAM O. STODDARD. 335 G Pilgrimage. IVE me my scallop-shell of quiet, My gown of glory, hope's true gage; Blood must be my body's balmer, Over the silver mountains, Where spring the nectar fountains, There will I kiss The bowle of blisse, And drink mine everlasting fill Upon every milken-hill : My soul will be a-dry before; But after that will thirst no more. SIR WALTER RALEIGH. A The Stranger. POOR wayfaring man of grief Hath often crossed me on my way, Who sued so humbly for relief That I could never answer Nay.” I had not power to ask his name, Once, when my scanty meal was spread, I gave him all; he blessed it, brake, I spied him where a fountain burst He heard it, saw it hurrying on. I ran to raise the sufferer up; Thrice from the stream he drained my cup, 'T was night; the floods were out,-it blew A winter hurricane aloof; I heard his voice abroad, and flew To bid him welcome to my roof; I warmed, I clothed, I cheered my guest- THE STRANGER. Stripped, wounded, beaten nigh to death, I roused his pulse, brought back his breath- Wine, oil, refreshment; he was healed. In prison I saw him next, condemned My friendship's utmost zeal to try, He asked if I for him would die; The flesh was weak, my blood ran chill, But the free spirit cried, "I will." Then in a moment, to my view, The tokens in his hands I knew My Saviour stood before mine eyes. These deeds shall thy memorial be; JAMES MONTGOMERY 339 |