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L. M.


Christ The Sufferer.

O suffering Friend of human kind!

How, as the fatal hour drew near,

Came thronging on thy holy mind

The images of grief and fear.

Gethsemane’s sad midnight scene,

The faithless friends, the exulting foes,

The thorny crown, the insult keen,

The scourge, the cross, before thee rose.

Did not thy spirit shrink dismayed,

As the dark vision o’er it came;

And though in sinless strength arrayed,

Turn, shuddering, from the death of shame?

Onward, like thee, through scorn and dread,

May we our Father’s call obey,

Steadfast thy path of duty tread,

And rise, through death, to endless day.

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