W. Garrett Horder, comp. The Poets’ Bible: New Testament. 1895.
The Myrrh
John Keble (17921866)“F
The dews oblivious: for the Cross is sharp,
The Cross is sharp, and He
Is tenderer than a lamb.
This bed of anguish? And His pale weak form
Is worn with many a watch
Of sorrow and unrest.
And the sad burthen pressed Him so to earth,
The very torturers paus’d
To help Him on His way.
With medicin’d sleep.”—O awful is Thy woe!
The parching thirst of death
Is on Thee, and Thou triest
Nor sullen, nor in scorn, like haughty man
With suicidal hand
Putting his solace by:
Saw from Thy Father’s bosom to th’ abyss
Measuring in calm presage
The infinite descent;
Made heir, and emptied of Thy glory awhile,
With unaverted eye
Thou meetest all the storm.
And rather wouldst Thou wrestle with strong pain,
Than overcloud Thy soul
So clear in agony.
O most entire and perfect sacrifice,
Renew’d in every pulse
That on the tedious Cross
The life strings of that tender heart gave way.
Even sinners, taught by Thee
Look Sorrow in the face,
By false kind solaces, and spells of earth:
And yet not all unsooth’d;
For when was Joy so dear,
Or “Be with me in Paradise to-day!”
And, though the strife be sore,
Yet in His parting breath
Forsaken, feels her present God again,
And in her Father’s arms
Contented dies away.