THE BROKEN SLUMBER.
"Woman! why weepest thou? whom seekest thou?"—John xx. 15.
"I sleep, but my heart waketh: it is the voice of my Beloved that knocketh, saying, Open to me."—Sol. Song v. 2.
As the mourning bride, awaking
From her slumber, wandered forth;
Weeping for her Lord departed,
Dwelling on His matchless worth,
From her slumber, wandered forth;
Weeping for her Lord departed,
Dwelling on His matchless worth,
Till Jerusalem's careless daughters
Listened to her wail of woe,
Crying, "Who is thy Beloved,
That thou weep'st His absence so?"
Listened to her wail of woe,
Crying, "Who is thy Beloved,
That thou weep'st His absence so?"
Thus I comfort me, recounting,
Lord, Thy wondrous works of old,
When Thy voice, that woke the tempest,
Ruled the waves that o'er me rolled.
Lord, Thy wondrous works of old,
When Thy voice, that woke the tempest,
Ruled the waves that o'er me rolled.
I Thy mercies will remember,
As my soul desponding lies,
And their memory shall upbear me,
O'er the earth-mists, to the skies.
As my soul desponding lies,
And their memory shall upbear me,
O'er the earth-mists, to the skies.
By the sleeper ceaseless watching,
When temptation's hour was nigh,
I declare how faithful Thou, Lord,
And Thou know'st how faithless I.
When temptation's hour was nigh,
I declare how faithful Thou, Lord,
And Thou know'st how faithless I.
Could I dwell on Thy perfections,
Tell how fair Thy features be,
Men would leave their senseless pleasures,
And go seek my Lord with me.
Tell how fair Thy features be,
Men would leave their senseless pleasures,
And go seek my Lord with me.
Yet the lost light, sore lamented,
Could alone the shadow leave;
If it flee not at my pleading,
Sure some blessing it will give.
Could alone the shadow leave;
If it flee not at my pleading,
Sure some blessing it will give.
Like the day-clouds, dark with showers,
Which with spring-tide duly come,
As the sunny harvest season
Ere the grain is gathered home;
Which with spring-tide duly come,
As the sunny harvest season
Ere the grain is gathered home;
So my winter and my summer,
Night and morn, and twilight days,
Raging heat, and tempest thunder,
Shall unite to sing Thy praise.
Night and morn, and twilight days,
Raging heat, and tempest thunder,
Shall unite to sing Thy praise.
Lord, it is Thyself I sigh for,
And I count past joys my pain;
Thoughts of Elim's wells and palm trees
Only make me thirst again.
And I count past joys my pain;
Thoughts of Elim's wells and palm trees
Only make me thirst again.
O dull heart! and couldst thou slumber
When thy Lord was at the door,
And His locks with night-dews heavy?
Had He never watched before?
When thy Lord was at the door,
And His locks with night-dews heavy?
Had He never watched before?
Was there not a lonesome garden?
There that head was bowed for thee,
Where the myrrh and wormwood mingled
'Neath the mystic olive tree.
There that head was bowed for thee,
Where the myrrh and wormwood mingled
'Neath the mystic olive tree.
Didst thou, when His fond hand beckoned,
Read thy name engraved in blood?
And His footprints—dost thou follow
In the narrow path they trod?
Read thy name engraved in blood?
And His footprints—dost thou follow
In the narrow path they trod?
Heart of love, so pierced and broken!
Ah, though fierce the soldier's spear,
Yet its thrust was ne'er so cruel
As my own reluctant ear.
Ah, though fierce the soldier's spear,
Yet its thrust was ne'er so cruel
As my own reluctant ear.
Where was sorrow like His sorrow?
Nay; not since the world began
Was there one to bear the burden
That He bore—the Sinless Man!
Nay; not since the world began
Was there one to bear the burden
That He bore—the Sinless Man!
Soul! if at thy door He speaketh,
Wilt thou rise and open now?
Though the thorn-wreath be the glory
Of that bruised and bleeding brow.
Wilt thou rise and open now?
Though the thorn-wreath be the glory
Of that bruised and bleeding brow.
Wouldst thou? 'Tis the risen Jesus!
Answerest thou with closed door,
When He comes in love to seek thee,
Where so oft ye met before?
Answerest thou with closed door,
When He comes in love to seek thee,
Where so oft ye met before?
Wilt thou find excuse to linger;
Or, with listless dull delay,
Greet the voice that longs to whisper,
"Rise, my love, and come away"?
Or, with listless dull delay,
Greet the voice that longs to whisper,
"Rise, my love, and come away"?
Rather—up, and gird thy garment!
Fear not that thy feet be soiled;
He who watcheth by thy lattice
Calls thee His—the undefiled!
Fear not that thy feet be soiled;
He who watcheth by thy lattice
Calls thee His—the undefiled!
Canst thou hear a Saviour suing?
Wilt thou let Him call in vain;
And, thy peace and joy forsaking,
Only wake—to sleep again?
Wilt thou let Him call in vain;
And, thy peace and joy forsaking,
Only wake—to sleep again?
Oh, Thy blood, sweet Lamb, hath power:
In Thy righteousness complete
I would hide me. Blessed Jesus,
I behold Thy hands—Thy feet.
In Thy righteousness complete
I would hide me. Blessed Jesus,
I behold Thy hands—Thy feet.
By Thy grace, Thy love, I triumph;
And my praise shall fuller be,
While I tell how rich Thy mercy
Unto me, Lord—yea, to me.
And my praise shall fuller be,
While I tell how rich Thy mercy
Unto me, Lord—yea, to me.