THE TROUBLE OF JESUS' SOUL.

JOHN xii. 27.

"AND now is my soul troubled." Can it be?
O speak the word again, and yet again.
Thy soul, O holy Saviour, troubled? Peace,
Be comforted, my weak and weary heart:
There is a deep unfathomable rest

In that low moan of anguish. Was Thy soul,
O Jesu, troubled, tempest-tost, like mine?—
Troubled?-Thy faith held fast her anchor-hold
Upon the Rock of everlasting strength:

For Thee the light of coming glory shone
Beyond all clouds, that wrapp'd the vale of death:

It was Thy daily meat and drink to do

Thy Father's will, which in Thy secret breast

Was ever springing up a well of life,

The world knew nothing of. And yet Thy soul

Was troubled.

Trouble then was uppermost,

Not joy, not peace, but trouble and unrest,

What time these holy words dropp'd from Thy lips:

There was no stain of sin in them, no film

Of evil; only grief, deep sinless grief,

As when a tempest scourges into waves

A calm and crystal lake.

Oh, peace, my heart:

It is not sin to feel the bitterness

Of sorrow, nor to tremble, as the storm
Rocks the foundations of our little all:

It is not sin to weep, and make our moan.
Nay, for this human suffering Jesus felt,
And wept, and shudder'd, and confess'd His woe;
Though almost in the self-same breath of prayer
He pleaded, "Father, glorify Thy name,"
And meekly bow'd His head to bear the cross.

I thank Thee, Lord, for these Thy words of grief;

I thank Thee more for Thy victorious love:

So teach me at Thy feet to kneel and learn,
Until my feeble prayer re-echoes Thine,

"Father, Thy will, not mine, Thy will be done."

1862.

NO MORE CRYING.

REV. xxi. 4.

I LAY upon my bed, and dream'd a dream.

Time and its conflicts had, methought, long since
Been number'd with the past. Nothing was heard
But Hallelujahs from the universe:

Our Father's will was done, His kingdom come:
Earth was a nursery for heaven. When, lo!
Among the mingled ranks of saints and seraphs
Who stood before the throne, a short sharp cry—
A short, sharp, passionate cry-suddenly rose:
One cry, and from the humblest of that throng;
One little cry, and in a moment hush'd.
But instantly the glorious tide of praise,
Which for long ages had flow'd on and on

In ever-deepening waves of crystal joy,

Was troubled. Afgel on archangel look'd

Amazed, abash'd, appall'd: saint gazed on saint

Incredulous and quickly through all worlds

:

The sympathetic tidings spread dismay. Wherefore? Was heaven's felicity so frail? Whence had that cry such terrors? Sin, sin, sin: Faint, feeble, fugitive; but real sin.

Had Satan broken loose? Should evil cast

Again its dismal shadow over good?

Angels grew pale; all faces gather'd gloom;
Thunders began to roll. And with the shock

I woke; and waking knew it was a dream,

A feverish nightmare-dream, earth-born, earth-bred, And one of heaven's impossibilities.

1867.