THORNS. HOMAGE TO THE CROSS, GOOD-FRIDAY, 1870.

Here his head rested, Crimsoned with blood; Jesus' hard slumber-place, Pillow of wood! Here his eye clouded; Dwell there, my gaze, Where the dear light of love Dyingly plays! Here the nails rankled; There the lance tore, While strove the water-tide Vainly with gore! Here the heart agonized, Hid from the glance; Pierced with ingratitude Worse than the lance! Here his soul parted— Break not, my heart! Oh! what a deadly hurt, Sinning, thou art. Here the feet turn to thee; Press them, my lips! While a love-agony Through my heart creeps! Richard Storrs Willis.