HOW BEAUTEOUS WERE THE MARKS DIVINE.
How beauteous were the marks divine,
That in Thy meekness used to shine,
That lit Thy lonely pathway trod
In wondrous love, O Son of God!
Oh, who like Thee, so calm, so bright,
So pure, so made to live in light?
Oh, who like Thee did ever go
So patient through a world of woe?
Oh, who like Thee, so humbly bore
The scorn, the scoffs of men, before?
So meek, forgiving, god-like, high,
So glorious in humility?
The bending angels stooped to see
The lisping infant clasp Thy knee,
And smile as in a father's eye,
Upon Thy mild divinity.
And death, which sets the prisoner free,
Was pang and scoff, and scorn to thee;
Yet love through all Thy torture glowed,
And mercy with Thy life-blood flowed.
Oh, in Thy light be mine to go,
Illuming all my way of woe;
And give me ever on the road
To trace Thy footsteps, Son of God!
—A. C. Coxe.