Our flesh, our forms, our tears, our pains, our woes;
A fellow-wanderer o’er earth’s wilderness!
Love Thee!—whose very word but breathes to bless!
Through Thee, from long-seal’d lips, glad language flows;
The blind their eyes, that laugh with light, unclose;
And babes, unchid, Thy garment’s hem caress.
I see thee—doomed by bitterest pangs to die,
Up the sad hill, with willing footsteps move,
With scorge, and taunt, and wanton agony;
While the cross nods, in hideous gloom, above,