REDEMPTION. 259
Fear smote their knees, sorrow their hearts depress'd,
Whilst each in turn, with troubled accent ask'd,
Or choked with sobbing grief Lord is it I?
Lord is it I? the same sad asking, plies
Peter, the Chief; so, Alpheus, Philip, James
Lord is it I ? with mournful voice entone ;
And he, who lean'd on Jesus' breast, beloved,
With piercing anguish raised his tearful eye,
To search the Master's mind ; whilst last, abash'd,
With husky voice, and stert'rous breath, repress'd,
The trembling felon asks Lord is it I ?
T' whom, meek the Lamb of sacrifice replies :
" He, who with me his hand dips in the dish, That same is he. The Son of Man, indeed, Doth go the way, as it of him is writ ; But woe to him by whom he is betray'd; 'Twere better for him, he had ne'er been born."
The wretch stigmatic, fast by Satan bound, Soon from the sacred presence stealthy slunk ; When thus the Lamb of God, serenely mild, With words consoling, his firm friends composed :
" Let not your hearts be troubled, nor afraid ; God ye believe, believe also in Me. Many a mansion hath my Father's house, To which I go, your places to prepare. The way I go, ye know I am the way, And I the truth am, and eternal life. They who me love, will my commandments keep; Them will my Father love, and I will love, And open manifest myself to them. Let not your hearts be troubled, nor afraid. With you my peace shall bide, myself will bide ;
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