92
COWLEY POEMS.
How the eternal Father did bestow
His own eternal Son as ransom for his foe,
I'll sing aloud, that all the world may hear
The triumph of the buried Conqueror.
How hell was by its prisoner captive led,
And the great slayer, Death, slain by the dead.
His own eternal Son as ransom for his foe,
I'll sing aloud, that all the world may hear
The triumph of the buried Conqueror.
How hell was by its prisoner captive led,
And the great slayer, Death, slain by the dead.
Methinks I hear of murdered men the voice,
Mixt with the murderers' confused noise,
Sound from the top of Calvary;
My greedy eyes fly up the hill, and see
Who 't is hangs there the midmost of the three;
Oh, how unlike the others He!
Look, how he bends his gentle head with blessings from the tree!
His gracious hands, ne'er stretch'd but to do good,
Are nail'd to the infamous wood;
And sinful man docs fondly bind
The arms, which he extends t' embrace all humankind.
Mixt with the murderers' confused noise,
Sound from the top of Calvary;
My greedy eyes fly up the hill, and see
Who 't is hangs there the midmost of the three;
Oh, how unlike the others He!
Look, how he bends his gentle head with blessings from the tree!
His gracious hands, ne'er stretch'd but to do good,
Are nail'd to the infamous wood;
And sinful man docs fondly bind
The arms, which he extends t' embrace all humankind.
Unhappy man! canst thou stand by and see
All this as patient as he?
Since he thy sins does bear,
Make thou his sufferings thine own,
And weep, and sigh, and groan,
And beat thy breast, and tear
Thy garments and thy hair,
And let thy grief, and let thy love,
Through all thy bleeding bowels move.
All this as patient as he?
Since he thy sins does bear,
Make thou his sufferings thine own,
And weep, and sigh, and groan,
And beat thy breast, and tear
Thy garments and thy hair,
And let thy grief, and let thy love,
Through all thy bleeding bowels move.
