The Penitent Restored

'Twas in an hour when sin prevail'd, And sore temptations prest, A sudden groan my ear assail'd, And pierc'd my shiv'ring breast.

I turn'd and shed a pitying flood At what mine eyes survey'd, A Prince expiring in his blood, And on a cross display'd.

I knew him, tho' his thorny crown Dimm'd his majestic air: And turn'd, demanding with a frown, "What traitor fix'd him there."

No answer to my voice I heard, Nor could discern a foe! When, lo! his fainting head he rear'd, And spake in words of woe:

"Cease, wretch, from vain inquiry rest, "My cruel murd'rer see; "Thy hands have rent my bleeding breast, "And nail'd me to the tree."

Trembling I fell, and kiss'd his wounds, And wept the gore away; I saw him smooth his killing frowns, And heard him gently say:

"Rise, let thy heart its grief compose, "Thy Saviour can forgive; "He feels the burden of thy woes, "And dies to bid thee live."

For me! a wretch so vile and base, Shall thy dear blood be shed! O doom me to that just disgrace, And nail me in thy stead!

Too great my guilt, allow'd too long. And, O! too oft exprest; I fear to think thy love so strong, And dare not hope the rest.

Be hush'd, attend thy Saviour's voice; He cries, "My brother, friend!" And bid my troubled soul rejoice, And all her sorrows end.

To me he turns, he smiles, he speaks, "Receive the grace you crave."— And thus vile sinners still he seeks, And seeking, loves to save!