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THE AGONY.
Thy spirit weighs the sins of men Thy science fathoms all their guilt 7 Thou sickenest heavily at Thy Heart, And the pores open, — Blood is spilt. |
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And Thou hast struggled with it, Lord ! Even to the limit of Thy strength, While hours, whose minutes were as years. Slowly fulfilled their weary length.
And Thou hast shuddered at each act, And shrunk with an astonished fear, As if Thou couldst not bear to see The loathsomeness of sin so near.
Sin and the Father's anger! they Have made Thy lower nature faint; All save the love within Thy Heart, Seemed for the moment to be spent.
My God! My God! and can it be That I should sin so lightly now, And think no more of evil thoughts, Than of the wind that waves the bough ?
I sin, — and heaven and earth go round, As if no dreadful deed were done, As if God's Blood had never flowed To hinder sin, or to atone. |
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