I am _crucified_ with Christ: nevertheless I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me.--Galatians, ii. 20. But God forbid that I should glory, save in the _cross_ of our Lord Jesus Christ, by whom the world is _crucified_ unto me, and I unto the world.--Galatians, vi. 14. Now my frail bark through this tempestuous flood Is steered, and full in view that port is seen, Where all must answer what their course has been, And every work be tried if bad or good. Now do those lofty dreams, my fancy’s brood, Which made of art an idol and a queen, Melt into air; and now I feel, how keen! That what I needed most I most withstood. Ye fabled joys, ye tales of empty love, What are ye now if two-fold death be nigh? The first is certain, and the last I dread. Ah! what does sculpture, what does painting prove, When we have seen the _cross_, and fixed our eye On him whose arms of love were thus outspread. _From the Italian of Michael Angelo._ My trust is in the _Cross_, there lies my rest, My fast, my sole delight. Let cold-mouthed Boreas, or the hot-mouthed East, Blow till they burst with spite; Let earth and hell conspire their worst, their best, And join their twisted might; Let showers of thunderbolts dart round and round me, And troops of fiends surround me: All this may well confront; all this shall ne’er confound me. _Francis Quarles._ Christ, when he died, Denied the _cross_, And on death’s side, Threw all the loss: The captive world awak’d and found The prisoners loose, the jailor bound. O dear and sweet dispute, ’Twixt death’s and love’s far different fruit, Different as far As antidotes and poisons are: By the first fatal tree, Both life and liberty Were sold and slain; By this, they both look up and live again. O strange mysterious strife, Of open death and hidden life! When on the _cross_ my kind did bleed, Life seemed to die, death died indeed. _Richard Crawshaw._ The sun beheld it--No, the shocking scene Drove back his chariot: midnight veiled his face; Not such as this; not such as nature makes; A midnight nature shuddered to behold; A midnight new! a dread eclipse (without Opposing spheres.) from her Creator’s frown! Sun! didst thou fly thy Maker’s pain? or start At that enormous load of human guilt, Which bowed his blessed head; o’erwhelmed his _cross_; Made groan the centre; burst earth’s marble womb With pangs, strange pangs! delivered of her dead? Hell howled, and Heaven that hour let fall a tear; Heaven wept that man might smile! Heaven bled that man Might never die! _Young._