Henry Alford (1810–1871)

[See also 1841]

Passion-Week, 1845

AGAIN the solemn season—and again

That bleeding Brow, those wounded Hands and Feet—

Again that piercèd Side my vision meet;

Afresh that holy Form is bowed with pain.

O Thou, the all-sufficing Victim, slain

For man's transgression; by Thy mercy sweet,

From God's right hand of power, Thy glory-seat,

To look upon Thy sorrowing people deign.

Unworthy, Lord, unworthy of Thy name,

Behold Thy sinful Church; by hatred rent,

In the vain world, and not in Thee, content:

Cast us not off, O Lord! in deepest shame,

On bended knees, we utter our lament,

Up to Thy throne in daily sighing sent.

That Day Was the Preparation, and the Sabbath Drew On

RISE and depart, thou highly-flavoured one,

From the sad cross, by thine adopted led:

Enough of bitter tears hath now been shed:

“Behold thy mother, and behold thy son.”

The meed of promised glory is not won,

The Prince of Life is numbered with the dead;

Each lingering hope of blessedness hath fled;

The treason hath been wrought—the dark deed done.

Thus down the steep of cruel Calvary

Passed those two holy mourners, hand in hand:

But as the brooding darkness from the land

Rose curtain-like, so comfort cheerily

Broke dawning on their hearts, and visions high

Of glory yet unshaped went dimly by.