2 His fervent piety was breathed To the lone waste, the desert hill; And in the haunts of men he sought To do his Heavenly Father's will. 3 He preached the gospel to the poor, Beside the couch of anguish stood, Consoled the sufferer, healed the sick, And went about still doing good. 4 With sinners he conversed, and gave Peace to the weary, troubled mind; Yet free from stain till life's last hour, In him his foes no fault could find. 5 Born 'midst the humblest sons of earth, All earth's temptations he withstood; And yet all human praise renounced, Declaring God alone is good. 126. P. M. Anonymous. He Had Not Where to Lay His Head. 1 Birds have their quiet nest, Foxes their holes, and man his peaceful bed; All creatures have their rest, But Jesus had not where to lay his head. 2 And yet he came to give The weary and the heavy-laden rest; To bid the sinner live, And soothe our griefs to slumber on his breast. 3 Let the birds seek their nest, Foxes their holes, and man his peaceful bed; Come, Saviour, in my breast Come and repose thine oft rejected head! 4 Come! give me rest, and take The only rest on earth thou lov'st, within A heart that for thy sake Shall purify itself from every sin. 127. L. M. Russell. Through His Poverty Made Rich. 1 On the dark-wave of Galilee The gloom of twilight gathers fast; And o'er the waters heavily Sweeps cold and drear the evening blast. 2 Still near the lake, with weary tread, Lingers a form of human kind; And on his lone, unsheltered head, Flows the chill night-damp of the wind. 3 Why seeks he not a home of rest? Why seeks he not the pillowed bed? Beasts have their dens, the bird his nest;-- He hath not where to lay his head. 4 Such was the lot he freely chose, To bless, to save, the human race; And through his poverty there flows A rich, full stream of heavenly grace. 128. L. M. *Gaskell. Christ The Sufferer. 1 Dark were the paths our Master trod, Yet never failed his trust in God; Cruel and fierce the wrongs he bore, Yet he but felt for man the more. 2 Unto the cross in faith he went, His Father's willing instrument; Upon the cross his prayer arose In pity for his ruthless foes. 3 O, may we all his kindred be, By holy love and sympathy; Still loving man through every ill, And trusting in our Father's will! 129. L. M. Bulfinch. Christ The Sufferer.