That for my sin Thou, Thou must drink,
Even Thou alone, the bitter cup
Of fury and of vengeance up.

_Chor._ Lord, I'll not see Thee to drink all
The vinegar, the myrrh, the gall:

_Vers. Chor._ But I will sip a little wine;
Which done, Lord, say: The rest is Mine.

268.

This crosstree here
Doth Jesus bear,
Who sweet'ned first
The death accurs'd.
Here all things ready are, make haste, make haste away;
For long this work will be, and very short this day.
Why then, go on to act: here's wonders to be done
Before the last least sand of Thy ninth hour be run;
Or ere dark clouds do dull or dead the mid-day's sun.
Act when Thou wilt,
Blood will be spilt;
Pure balm, that shall
Bring health to all.
Why then, begin
To pour first in
Some drops of wine,
Instead of brine,
To search the wound
So long unsound:
And, when that's done,
Let oil next run
To cure the sore
Sin made before.
And O! dear Christ,
E'en as Thou di'st,
Look down, and see
Us weep for Thee.
And tho', love knows,
Thy dreadful woes
We cannot ease,
Yet do Thou please,
Who mercy art,
T' accept each heart
That gladly would
Help if it could.
Meanwhile let me,
Beneath this tree,
This honour have,
To make my grave.

269. TO HIS SAVIOUR'S SEPULCHRE: HIS DEVOTION.

Hail, holy and all-honour'd tomb,
By no ill haunted; here I come,
With shoes put off, to tread thy room.
I'll not profane by soil of sin
Thy door as I do enter in;
For I have washed both hand and heart,
This