His blood to thee doth roll,

Gethsemane!

Ah! there He took the cup
His Father gave;

Resigned, He drank it up,

My soul to save!

The world's deep guilt and hate,
Heart-crushing load so great,
How death-like was its weight,
Gethsemane!

Garden of love and woe,

How dear to me!

I oft in spirit go,

Jesus to see,

Who gives me heavenly aid
To pray as there He prayed,
Within thy sacred shade,

Gethsemane !

S. D. PHELPS.

1

IN THE GARDEN.

IS midnight; and on Olive's brow
The star is dimmed that lately shone;
'Tis midnight; in the garden now

The suffering Saviour prays alone.

Tis midnight; and from all removed,
The Saviour wrestles lone with fears;
E'en that disciple whom He loved

Heeds not his Master's grief and tears.

'Tis midnight; and for others' guilt
The Man of Sorrows weeps in blood;

Yet He who hath in anguish knelt
Is not forsaken by His God.

'Tis midnight; and from ether-plains
Is borne the songs that angels know;
Unheard by mortals are the strains
That sweetly soothe the Saviour's woe.

W. B. TAPPAN

UPON THE CROSS.

SAW One hanging on a tree,

In agony and blood,

Who fixed His languid eyes on me,
As near the Cross I stood.

Sure, never till my latest breath

Can I forget that look;

It seemed to charge me with His death,
Though not a word He spoke.

Alas! I knew not what I did,—

But now my tears are vain;

Where shall my trembling soul be hid,
For I the Lord have slain ?

A second look He gave, that said:
"I freely all forgive;

This blood is for thy ransom paid:
I die that thou may'st live."

Thus while His death my sin displays

In all its blackest hue,

Such is the mystery of grace,

It seals my pardon too!

NEWTON

A

CHRIST CRUCIFIED.

[SIR ROUNDELL PALMER, in a very interesting essay on English Church Hymns, refers to the following as a "master-piece."

At the annual meeting of the American Board, in October, 1861, Rev. Dr. Worcester, of Salem, gave out this hymn in the opening devotional services. After reading the third verse, he paused and remarked, "The next verse, as written by the author, is omitted in this edition of the hymn-book; I will give it to you from memory." As he repeated it, a profound impression was made upon the audience. It is still omitted in modern hymn-books, for what reason it 18 not easy to divine. Even Sir Roundell Palmer has overlooked this neglected verse.]

HEN I survey the wondrous cross
On which the Prince of Glory died,
My richest gain I count but loss,

And

pour contempt on all my pride.

Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast
Save in the death of Christ, my God;
All the vain things that charm me most
I sacrifice them to His blood.

See from His head, His hands, His feet,
Sorrow and love flow mingled down!
Did e'er such love and sorrow meet,

Or thorns compose so rich a crown?

His dying crimson, like a robe,
Spreads o'er His body on the tree;
Then am I dead to all the globe,
And all the globe is dead to me.

Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were a present far too small;
Love so amazing, so divine,

Demands my soul, my life, my all.

ISAAC WATTS.

WRESTLING JACOB.

[OF this hymn DR. WATTS had so high an appreciation, that he is reported to have said that he would have esteemed it a higher honor to have been the author of this one hymn than of all the fruit of his prolific and consecrated pen.]

D

OME, O Thou traveller unknown,

Whom still I hold, but cannot see;
My company before is gone,

And I am left alone with Thee;
With Thee all night I mean to stay,
And wrestle till the break of day.

I need not tell thee who I am,
My misery and sin declare;