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 REDEMPTION. 145

When in his arms thine infant form he took.

I see the sword destined to pierce my soul,

And willingly would shed my blood for thine,

Could that avert from thee thy deep distress,

Or aid the cause that leads thee hence from nie.

At least my tears shall as a fountain flow,

Flow till the fount be dry, or sorrow's sum

Of dire, accumulative woe be fill'd.

I had desired thee near me, fear'd to loose,

But now I see the motive, that inflames

Thy loving heart, a motive like thyself,

Supremely good, that others' woes laments,

Regardless of thine own ; motive, that drew

Thee from thy heav'nly throne, and proves thee such,

As for transgression only could atone.

My heart hath joy in thee, beloved Son;

If henceforth grief should pierce that heart with pain,

I'll bear it, thy grace aiding, for thy sake,

Assured of thy loved presence, and such help

As angel guards, disposed by thee, may yield."

Behind the hill, not far from where they sat, A grove of alders grew, with chesnut rnix'd, Wild cork, close set with brush, a thicket dense, Dark, wild, for wily ambush fitly built. Within this covert, low the Devil crouch'd, Arrear, but in full view his gloaming eye, And easy length for his attentive ear. Each motion he espied, each word drank in, And marvell'd much, at what he saw and heard. Nor, when they ceased, (such charm their voice convey'd,) Bethought to move him, but with eyeballs set, And auricles erect, still strained to hear.

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