From Hands and Feet the nails they wrenched,
Weeping that they Jo late had blenched,

And came not till the Light was quenched.
From His dear Head they took the Crown,
Half thinking He might know His Own,

And Jadly then they took Him down.
Upon the earth its Maker lies ;

They gently cloje His All-pure Eyes,

They feel His late-felt Agonies.
Each gracious Arm, which Jlretching wide
To clajp the world for which He died,

So long was parted from the Side,

Each Arm, Jo kind to things Jo baje,

Now Jeeks Its natural rejling-place,

Yet ceajes not from that embrace ;



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278

But for the Blood which left cach Vein
Thcy need not wafh That facred Stain,
To wajh all elje It doth remain.
Where is the Linen Jofeph bought ?

The Spices Nicodemus brought,

Aloes and Myrrh ? Be wanting nought.
The jnowy Cerements wrap Him well,
The Spices Him yet Jweeter teli,

We add our hearts with Him to dwell.
Slowly they lift Him from the Jod,

With holy fear the path is trod,

As men Jhould walk who bear their God.
In reverent order Jad and jlow
From the dark place of Death they go,
Or weeping wild or Jobbing low ;

And yet they tend to happy bowers,
Alone among the garden-flowers
They go to lay their God and ours.
Now to the hard Rock He is borne ;
Sweet Rock by after-pilgrims worn,
Sweet Field of the dead Wheaten Corn.
A little while their Trujl they keep,

A little while they pray and weep,

And then they lay Him dpwn to Jleep.
'flp&e Burial. 279

They clofe the Tomb and go away
To keep that awful Sabbath-day,

But with thc Lord in heart thcy Jlay.
