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There is a green hill far away, Without a city wall, Where the dear Lord was crucified Who died to save us all.

Hail, O bleeding Head and wounded, With a crown of thorns surrounded, Buffeted, and bruised and battered, Smote with reed by striking shattered, Face with spittle vilely smeared! Hail, whose visage sweet and comely, Marred by fouling stains and homely, Changed as to its blooming color, All now turned to deathly pallor, Making heavenly hosts affeared!

And Jesus saith unto him, The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests; but the Son of man hath not where to lay his head.

In every pang that rends the heart The Man of Sorrows had a part.

Lovely was the death Of Him whose life was Love! Holy with power, He on the thought-benighted Skeptic beamed Manifest Godhead.

A pagan heart, a Christian soul had he. He followed Christ, yet for dead Pan he sighed, As if Theocritus in Sicily Had come upon the Figure crucified, And lost his gods in deep, Christ-given rest.

Fra Lippo, we have learned from thee A lesson of humanity: To every mother's heart forlorn, In every house the Christ is born.

Every pang that rends the heart.

In darkness there is no choice. It is light that enables us to see the difference between things; and it is Christ that gives us light.

Who did leave His Father's throne, To assume thy flesh and bone? Had He life, or had He none? If he had not liv'd for thee, Thou hadst died most wretchedly And two deaths had been thy fee.

Thou hast conquered, O Galilaean. [Lat., Vicisti, Galloloae.]

All His glory and beauty come from within, and there He delights to dwell, His visits there are frequent, His conversation sweet, His comforts refreshing; and His peace passing all understanding.

Into the woods, my Master went, Clean forspent, forspent, Into the woods my Master came, Forspent with love and shame. But the olives they were not blind to Him, The little gray leaves were kind to Him: The thorn-tree had a mind to Him, When into the woods He came.

God never gave man a thing to do concerning which it were irreverent to ponder how the Son of God would have done it.

The Pilot of the Galilean Lake.

Near, so very near to God, Nearer I cannot be; For in the person of his Son I am as near as he. So dear, so very dear to God, More dear I cannot be; The love wherewith he loves the Son - Such is his love to me.

Christ beside me, Christ before me, Christ behind me, Christ within me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me.

But chiefly Thou, Whom soft-eyed Pity once led down from Heaven To bleed for man, to teach him how to live, And, oh! still harder lesson! how to die.

Therefore, friends, As far as to the sepulchre of Christ-- Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross We are impressed and engaged to fight-- Fourthwith a power of English shall we levy, Whose arms were moulded in their mother's womb To chase these pagans in those holy fields Over whose acres walked those blessed feet Which fourteen hundred years ago were nailed For our advantage on the bitter cross.

And on his brest a bloodie crosse he bore, The deare remembrance of his dying Lord, For whose sweete sake that glorious badge he wore.