Page:The Amulet for 1826.pdf/376



It pass'd not—tho' the stormy wave
 * Had sunk beneath His tread;

It pass'd not—tho' to Him the grave
 * Had yielded up its dead.

But there was sent Him, from on high, A gift of strength, for man to die!

And was His mortal hour beset
 * With anguish and dismay?

How may we meet our conflict yet
 * In the dark, narrow way?

How, but thro' Him, that path who trod?— Save, or we perish, Son of God!