2 He came, not in his robe of wrath, With arm outstretched to slay; But on the darkling paths of earth, To pour celestial day; To guide in peace the wandering feet, The broken heart to bind, And bear upon the painful cross, The sins of human kind. 3 And thou hast borne them, Saviour meek! And therefore unto thee, In humbleness and gratitude, Our hearts shall offered be; Our contrite hearts, an offering, Lord, Which thou wilt not despise, Our souls, our bodies, all be thine, A living sacrifice! 156 8s, 7s & 7s. Jesus wept. Jesus wept! those tears are over, But his heart is still the same; Kinsman, Friend, and Elder Brother, Is his everlasting name. Saviour, who can love like thee? Gracious one of Bethany! 2 When the pangs of trial seize us, When the waves of sorrow roll, I will lay my head on Jesus— Pillow of the troubled soul. Truly, none can feel like thee, Weeping one of Bethany! 3 Jesus wept, and still in glory He can mark each mourner’s tear— Living to retrace the story Of the hearts he solaced here. Lord, when I am called to die, Let me think of Bethany! 4 Jesus wept! that tear of sorrow Is a legacy of love; Yesterday, to-day, to-morrow, He the same shall ever prove. Thou art all in all to me, Living one of Bethany! CHRIST: SUFFERINGS. 157 L. M. Christ the sufferer. O suffering Friend of human kind! How, as the fatal hour drew near, Came thronging on thy holy mind The images of grief and fear! 2 Gethsemane’s sad midnight scene, The faithless friends, th’ exulting foes, The thorny crown, the insult keen, The scourge, the cross, before thee rose. 3 Did not thy spirit shrink dismayed, As the dark vision o’er it came; And, though in sinless strength arrayed, Turn, shuddering, from the death of shame? 4 Onward, like thee, through scorn and dread, May we our Father’s call obey, Steadfast thy path of duty tread, And rise, through death, to endless day. 158 L. M. Led as a lamb to the slaughter. The morning dawns upon the place Where Jesus spent the night in prayer; Through yielding glooms behold his face! Nor form, nor comeliness is there. 2 Brought forth to judgment, now he stands Arraigned, condemned, at Pilate’s bar; Here, spurned by fierce pretorian bands; There, mocked by Herod’s men of war. 3 He bears their buffeting and scorn— Mock-homage of the lip, the knee— The purple robe, the crown of thorn— The scourge, the nail, the accursed tree.