For Christ, your loving Saviour, hath Drunk up the wine of God's fierce wrath; Only there's left a little froth, Less for to taste than for to show What bitter cups had been your due, Had He not drank them up for you. 267. HIS ANTHEM TO CHRIST ON THE CROSS. When I behold Thee, almost slain, With one and all parts full of pain: When I Thy gentle heart do see Pierced through and dropping blood for me, I'll call, and cry out, thanks to Thee. _Vers._ But yet it wounds my soul to think That for my sin Thou, Thou must drink, Even Thou alone, the bitter cup Of fury and of vengeance up. _Chor._ Lord, I'll not see Thee to drink all The vinegar, the myrrh, the gall: _Vers. Chor._ But I will sip a little wine; Which done, Lord, say: The rest is Mine. 268. This crosstree here Doth Jesus bear, Who sweet'ned first The death accurs'd. Here all things ready are, make haste, make haste away; For long this work will be, and very short this day. Why then, go on to act: here's wonders to be done Before the last least sand of Thy ninth hour be run; Or ere dark clouds do dull or dead the mid-day's sun. Act when Thou wilt, Blood will be spilt; Pure balm, that shall Bring health to all. Why then, begin To pour first in Some drops of wine, Instead of brine, To search the wound So long unsound: And, when that's done, Let oil next run To cure the sore Sin made before. And O! dear Christ, E'en as Thou di'st, Look down, and see Us weep for Thee. And tho', love knows, Thy dreadful woes We cannot ease, Yet do Thou please, Who mercy art, T' accept each heart That gladly would Help if it could. Meanwhile let me, Beneath this tree, This honour have, To make my grave. 269. TO HIS SAVIOUR'S SEPULCHRE: HIS DEVOTION.