THE DESCENT FROM THE CROSS.

WRITTEN TO ILLUSTRATE A PRINT FROM RUBENS'S CELEBRATED PICTURE.

"It is finished!"-JOHN xix. 30.

"IT is finished!" All is done

As the Eternal Father willed;

Now his well-beloved Son

Hath His gracious word fulfilled:

Even he who runs may read

Here accomplished what was said, That the woman's promised Seed

Yet should bruise the serpent's head!

THE DESCENT FROM THE CROSS.

"It is finished!" Needs no more

Blood of heifer, goat, or ram; Typical, in days of yore,

Of the one incarnate Lamb!

Lamb of God! for sinners slain,

Thou the curse of sin hast braved;

Braved and borne it—not in vain ;

Thou hast died-and man is saved!

"It is finished!" Wrath of man

Here hath wrought, and done its worst;

Still subservient to His plan,

Greatest, Wisest, Last, and First!

God shall magnify His praise

By that very act of shame;

And, through hatred's hellish ways,

He shall glorify His name!

"It is finished!" From the tree

Where the Lord of life hath died,

His attendant mourners, see,

Gently lower The Crucified!

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THE DESCENT FROM THE CROSS.

With a sister's tender care,

With a more than brother's love,

Manhood, womanhood are there,

Truth's devotedness to prove.

"It is finished!" By the veil

Of the temple, rent in twain;

By the yet more fearful tale

Of the dead, up-risen again;

By that dense and darkened sky,

By each rent and rifted rock,

By that last expiring cry,

Heard amid the earthquake's shock!

"It is finished!" Bear away

To the garden-tomb its dead:
Boast not, Death! thy transient prey;

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Watchers! vain your nightly tread;

Shining ones" are there, who wait

Till their Lord shall burst his prison,

To ascend in glorious state:

"IT IS FINISHED!" CHRIST HATH RISEN.

THE BIBLE.

A FOUNTAIN ever springing,
Where the wearied may repair,
The heavy burden bringing

Of sin, and of despair.

A hive of honied treasure,

Distilled from Eden's bowers;

Where heaven-born hope, with pleasure, May feed in wintry hours.

Drink for the soul that 's thirsting,

Comfort for those that fear,

Balm for the heart when bursting,
May all be gathered here.

What added boon is wanting?
Thy blessing, Lord! must give,

The gift of faith by granting,
To read, believe, and live!

SONNET,

TO JOB'S THREE FRIENDS.

HOWEVER ye might err in after speech,
The mute expression of that voiceless woe
Whereby ye sought your sympathy to show
With him of Uz-doth eloquently preach!
Teaching a lesson it were well to teach
Some comforters-of utterance less slow,
Prone to believe that they more promptly know
Grief's mighty depths, and by their words can reach.
"Seven days and nights," in stillness as profound
As that of Chaos, patiently ye sate

By the heart-stricken and the desolate !

And though your sympathy might fail to sound
The fathomless depth of his dark spirit's wound,
Not less your silence was sublimely great!