Classic Poem

THE DEATH OF JESUS .

" 'T IS finished:" he spake the words, and bow'd
His head, and died. Beholding him far off,
They who had minister'd unto him hope
'Tis his last agony. The Temple's veil
Is rent; revealing the most holy place,
Wherein the cherubims their wings extend,
O'ershadowing the mercy-seat of God
Appall'd, the leaning soldier feels the spear
Shake in his grasp; the planted standard falls
Upon the heaving ground: the sun is dimm'd,
And darkness shrouds the body of the Lord.