Then from his tortured hands and feet They loosed each bolt and struck each chain, And offered him an escort fleet To bear him to his home again. They brought him back his trusty sword, Awhile he hesitating stands, Frees from his sword each little stain ; Then grasps it firmly in his hands, And snaps its shining blade in twain. He thanked them for their kind behest, And how henceforth he meant to dwell From that time forth with them he dwelt ; Beside the bed of pain he knelt, Held in his hands the dying head; And long that wondrous tale he told To which at first their ear they lent, Until, with years and honour old, His noble spirit homeward went. And thus at duty's post he died: Thousands, his loss lamenting, wept, And in that region far and wide His memory for long they kept. And thus, by God's own Spirit wrought, He broke the ranks of error down, The battle of the Cross he fought, And won the faithful soldier's crown. M THE WAY OF PEACE. Y heart was weary with a woe I strove to rid me of in vain ; No respite did my spirit know; Each day but added to my pain: It was the heavy weight of sin That burdened all my soul within. And far and wide around I sought Some friend to take my load away; But none availed to ease me aught, And I was powerless as they, And still my anguish more and more, With growing power, oppressed me sore. I saw far off the happy home Where God among His saints resides, Where sin and grief can never come, And peace eternally abides; While on my ear fell faint but sweet Thrice weary then, with tearful eyes, A longing rose within my breast In eager haste I strove to find I steadfast towards it set my face, But when at length the gate I neared Who said I might not enter in, Hopeless and helpless, sick at heart, When, lo! I felt a gentle hand, And, looking up with weeping eyes, Of humble look and simple guise, He asked my grief-I told him all— He bade me rise and follow him I rose, obedient to his call, And, though my eyes with tears were dim, B There was such sweetness in his voice, Straight from that spot he took me back I knocked and waited-opening quick, In anger then I turned again, And asked why thus he mocked my pain. With searching glance he looked at me, And asked if I indeed would be Rid of my weight of guilt and fear, And said that through no gate but this Could I attain the realm of bliss. He told me how, in suff'ring sore, Himself had traced that path along, Which none had ever trod before, Though since had passed a countless throng. His name I questioned of my guide He told me, "Christ the crucified." |