"IT IS FINISH'D."
The harp of prophecy was hush'd,
Strange tones its music drown,
For angel-choirs to Bethlehem's vales
With songs of peace came down,
And Christ to Calvary went forth,
Wearing his thorny crown.
Asunder clave the rifted rocks,
The quaking Earth did wail,
Thick darkness came at noon-day up
The shrinking Sun to veil,
And from the mouldering charnel-house
Stalk'd forth the tenants pale.
"'Tis finish'd," cried the Son of God,
And yielded up the ghost,
"'Tis finish'd," echoed far and wide
The bright, celestial coast,
And Man, the sinner, shouted high
Amid the ransom'd host.