RESIGNATION.

LORD, it belongs not to my care
Whether I die or live;

To love and serve thee is my share,
And this thy grace must give.
If life be long, I will be glad
That I may long obey:

If short-yet why should I be sad,
That shall have equal pay ?

Christ leads me through no darker rooms
Than he went through before;

He that into God's kingdom comes,
Must enter by that door.

Come, Lord, when grace hath made me meet

Thy blessed face to see;

For if thy work on earth be sweet,

What will thy glory be ?

Then I shall end my sad complaints,
And weary sinful days;

And join with the triumphant saints,
That sing Jehovah's praise.

My knowledge of that life is small,

The eye of faith is dim;

But 'tis enough that Christ knows all,

And I shall be with him.

BAXTER.

FOR GOOD FRIDAY.

STABAT Mater dolorosa,
Juxta crucem lachrymosa,
Dum pendebat Filius,

Cujus animam gementem,
Contristatam et dolentem,
Pertransivit gladius.

O quam tristis et afflicta
Fuit illa benedicta
Mater Unigeniti,

Quæ mærebat et dolebat,
Et tremebat, dum videbat,
Nati pœnas inclyti.

Quis est homo qui non fleret
Matrem Christi si videret
In tanto supplicio ?

Quis non posset contristari
Christi Matrem contemplari
Dolentem cum Filio ?

Pro peccatis suæ gentis
Vidit Jesum in tormentis,
Et flagellis subditum.

Vidit suum dulcem natum, Moriendo desolatum,

Dum emisit spiritum.

FOR GOOD FRIDAY.

By the cross unheeded sighing,
Where her holiest Son hung dying,
The afflicted Mother stood.

Through her heart, with sorrows riven,
Sharp the destined sword was driven,
Sharp beyond her worst forebode.

Blest of women-with what anguish
Did her soul within her languish,
Mother of the Holiest One!

How she watched, in bitterest moaning, Fainting, sickening, trembling, groaning, All the tortures of her Son!

Lives there one, who, coldly gazing,
Tearless eyes could stand upraising,
From the crowd that mocks below,

To the cross, where, broken-hearted,
From the Son the Mother parted,
Clings and weeps his speechless woe?

Wounded for the world's transgression, Murdered to make intercession,

Scourged by those he came to save,

That sweet Son, by most forsaken,
She still watched in death-throes shaken,
Till his spirit up he gave.

It is hoped that no one will object to the slight alterations by which the remainder of this hymn is transferred to the true object of worship.

Jesus, fountain of compassion,
By thy pangs, oh! deign to fashion
This vile heart to mourn with thee.

Holy Father, hear my crying,
Bid me watch my Saviour's dying,
Bid me feel his agony.

Since for me, by foes surrounded,
Thine eternal Son hung wounded,
In his wounds some part I crave.

Let me by his cross lie weeping,
Still with him sad vigil keeping,
Let me in her anguish share.

There, by his blest Mother bending,
Tears with tears so holy blending,
On my pathway to the grave.

Make me, each ill lust denying,
Inly bear my Saviour's dying-
Of his stripes some impress wear.

Jesu! from the death eternal,
From the fiends and flames infernal,
Save me in the day of doom;

When the worms this flesh inherit,
Call to rest my wearied spirit—
Rest and light from toil and gloom.