O blessed well of love! O flower of grace!
O glorious morning star! O lamp of light!
Most lively image of thy Father’s face,
Eternal King of glory! Lord of might!
Meek Lamb of God, Before all worlds’ behest,
How can we thee requite for all this good?
Or what can prize, that, they most precious blood?
Spenser.
‘MID gleaming arms and purple power,
(Rome’s lords of that mysterious hour,)
Amid Judea’s priestly band,
The sinful leaders of the land,
Amid the wild and rabble herd,
Mad echoes of their will and word,
Stands One in mockery’s garb arrayed,
That One for whom the world was made!
The marble floor is stained with blood,
His the bruised body whence it flowed;
For there, as with prophetic plough,
The scourges make “long furrows” now!
For Him they weave the twisted thorn,
Engine of pain and type of scorn;
They crown Him and full soon is wet
With crimson dew that coronet;
As though the briar its fate abhorred,
And blushed to wound its gentle Lord.
‘Tis finished! and ‘mid seraph quires,
Legions of spirits, flaming fires,
More glorious than the starry throng,
With each a crown and each a song,
‘Mid triumph, worship, power, and praise,
An ever bright and gathering blaze,
He stands on whom the world so late
Poured forth the vials of its hate.
That One, whom thorn, and rod, and spear,
And mocking man, so tortured here!
That One, before whose feet to bow
Is glory and dominion now!
That One! that One! whose unveiled face,
Is Heaven’s eternal dwelling place.
Awhile and nations gathered round
Shall see Him once again re-crowned;
Not as by men a man of grief,
Not as by angels victor chief,
But conquered earth and hell shall spring
To greet him universal King!
His the sole seat of judgment then
For rebel fiends and rebel men;
And there shall Herod’s band appear,
Vain guarding shield, vain threatening spear.
There, priestly heads that mocked his pain,
Shall lowly bow, yet bow in vain;
And those that smote him in the hall,
And those that mixed his cup of gall,
Drink of wrath’s chalice, dregs and all;
Pilate, with vainly washen hand,
Before his prisoner culprit stand,
And find his truest friend had been,
Not Caesar, but the Nazarene:
While tongues seraphic ratify
Their doom who once said “crucify,”
And pardoned saints take up the song,
As rushing waters swift and strong,
One anthem through all space resound,
To Him, the crucified, the crowned!
(Mary Jane Jewsbury)
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Based on Topics: Love Poems, Man Poems, God Poems, World Poems, Light Poems, Faces Poems, Place Poems, Kings & Queens Poems, Pain Poems, Success Poems, Power PoemsBased on Keywords: ratify, washen