“Thy Saviour cometh.” O my soul, behold! Arise and greet Him smitten for thy sin, Wounded for thee the Father’s grace to win, True Shepherd, stricken for the frightened fold. Art thou asleep, my soul? Art thou afraid To meet the sorrow of that face despised? Ah! see the love with which thy love is prized: He bleeds for thee that hast so oft betrayed; His soul is sorrowful to death for thee, For thee is borne the crown of pitying thorn, For thee his people’s cruel taunts are borne, Carried the heavy cross to Calvary. He weeps thy sins: weep thou his infinite woe. What have we done that he should love us so? HOLY THURSDAY. Was’t not enough, dear Lord, that thou shouldst give Thy body to the scourge, the thorn, the reed, That thou in dark Gethsemani shouldst bleed, The purple garment from rude hands receive, But that thou still must give thyself to bear New stripes, new Calvary in that dim life That is our refuge in the weary strife Earth offers all who seek thy life to share? O Love divine! was’t not enough to hold Thine own so dear thou lovedst to the end, Deep-wounded hands on Calvary to extend, Seeking poor earth in Love’s wide arms to fold, But still thou giv’st thyself, Love’s sacrament, As with thy love and sorrow uncontent? GOOD FRIDAY. Dear Mother, unto thee I come to-day, Because I dare not look upon the face Of Him in whose least wound my sins I trace: Dear Mother, for his love’s sake bid me stay. He calls: “I thirst.” Ah! offer him my tears Repentance hath made pure of all their gall. Tell him, who nothing has would offer all, But yet to bring the gift unworthy fears, Lest so some added thorn be wreathed within The crown wherewith the wounded brow is bound, The mocking people’s sovereignty’s round That saints, with joy, shall lose all life to win. Mother, thy Son gives me in thy fond care: Fold thou my helpless hands in perfect prayer. HOLY SATURDAY. “This day in Paradise.” O fortunate thief! What strange surprise, what happiness, was thine In that dim land to see the Sun divine, To win so soon the crown of late belief. This day in Paradise! O soul released By cleansing sign of Resurrection cross, Earth may bewail thy Lord: thine is no loss, With fresh forgiveness holding wealth increased. Soul, hast thou hung on Calvary’s cross with him, Thou, justly, like the thief, for thine offence, Breathe thou thy prayer of humble penitence: Glory of dawn shall break thy shadows dim, ’Mid which the Sun of Justice glad shall rise— Poor pardoned thief!—this day in Paradise! EASTER SUNDAY.