And on the waters drearily
Descends the fitful evening blast.

2 The weary bird hath left the air
And sunk into his sheltered nest;
The wandering beast has sought his lair.
And laid him down to welcome rest.

3 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.

4 Why seeks he not a home of rest?
Why seeks he not a pillowed bed?
Beasts have their dens, the bird its nest;
He hath not where to lay his head.

5 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.

1 WERE not the sinful Mary's tears
An offering worthy heaven,
When o'er the faults of former years
She wept, and was forgiven?

2 When, bringing every balmy sweet
Her day of luxury stored,

She o'er her Saviour's hallowed feet
The precious perfume poured,-

3 Were not those sweets so humbly shed,
That hair, those weeping eyes,
And the sunk heart which inly bled,
Heaven's noblest sacrifice?

4 Thou that hast slept in error's sleep,
O, wouldst thou wake to heaven,
Like Mary kneel, like Mary weep;
"Love much," and be forgiven!

L. M.

268.

MILMAN.

Christ's Entrance into Jerusalem.

1 RIDE on, ride on in majesty!

Hark! all the tribes "Hosanna" cry!
Thine humble beast pursues his road,
With palms and scattered garments strewed.

2 Ride on, ride on in majesty!

In lowly pomp ride on to die!

O Christ, thy triumphs now begin,

O'er captive death and conquered sin.

3 Ride on, ride on in majesty!
The winged squadrons of the sky

Look down with sad and wondering eyes
To see the approaching sacrifice.

4 Ride on, ride on in majesty!
Thy last and fiercest strife is nigh!
The Father, on his glorious throne,
Expects his own anointed Son.

5 Ride on, ride on in majesty!
In lowly pomp ride on to die;
Bow thy meek head to mortal pain,

Then take, O Christ, thy power, and reign.

C. M.

269.

WESLEYAN MAG.

Jesus entering Jerusalem.

1 FROM Olivet's sequestered seats

What sounds of transport spread!

What concourse moves through Salem's streets, To Zion's holy head!

2 Behold him there in lowliest guise!

The Saviour of mankind!

Triumphant shouts before him rise,
And shouts reply behind!

3 He came to earth,

through life he passed

A man of grief and woe;

A noble army following fast
His martyr path shall go.

4 All decked with palms, and strangely bright, That noble host appears;

And stainless are their robes of white,
Though steeped in blood and tears.

5 From ages past descends the lay
To ages yet to be,

Till far its echoes roll away
Into eternity.

1

Christ weeping over Jerusalem.

WHY doth my Saviour weep
At sight of Zion's bowers?

Shows it not fair from yonder steep,
Her gorgeous crown of towers?
Or doth he feel the cross

Already in his heart,

The pain, the shame, the scorn, the loss, -
Feel e'en his God depart?

2 Ah! hero ne'er, nor saint,
The secret load might know
With which his spirit waxeth faint;
His is a Saviour's woe:

"If thou hadst known, e'en thou,
At least in this thy day,

The message of thy peace! but now
"T is passed for aye away."

3 And doth my Saviour weep
Over his people's sin,

Because we will not let him keep
The souls he died to win?

Ye hearts that love the Lord,
If at this sight ye burn,

See that in thought, in deed, in word,
Ye hate what made him.mourn.

P. M.

271.

MRS. HEMANS.

"My soul is exceeding sorrowful."

1 He knelt, the Saviour knelt and prayed, When but his Father's eye

Looked through the lonely garden's shade,
On that dread agony!

Messiah cried with suppliant breath,
Bowed down with sorrow unto death.

2 He knew them all, the doubt, the strife,
The faint, perplexing dread;
The mists that hang o'er parting life,
All darkened round his head;
And the Deliverer knelt to pray,-
Yet passed it not, that cup, away!

It passed not, though the stormy wave Had sunk beneath his tread;

It passed not, though to him the grave
Had yielded up its dead.

But there was sent him from on high
A gift of strength for man to die.

4 And was his mortal hour beset
With anguish and dismay?
How may we meet our conflict yet,
In the dark, narrow way?

How, but through hin, that path who trod,
The man of grief, -the Son of God!

L. M.

272.

Christ's Passion.

MONTGOMERY.

1 THE morning dawns upon the place,
Where Jesus spent the night in prayer;
Through brightening glooms behold his face,
No form or comeliness is there.

2 Last eve, by those he called his own,
Betrayed, forsaken, or denied,

He met his enemies alone,

In all their malice, rage, and pride.

3 No guile within his mouth is found,
He neither threatens nor complains;
Meek as a lamb for slaughter bound,
Dumb 'midst his murderers he remains.

4 But hark! he prays, 't is for his foes,
He speaks, 't is comfort to his friends,
Answers, and paradise bestows;
"'T is finished!"

- here the conflict ends.

5 He dies: the veil is rent in twain; Darkness o'er all the land is spread;