For the sinful world’s salvation.
See Him, torn by woe appalling,
Kneeling in the garden still,
And upon His Father calling
That, if possible, He will
Take the bitter cup away.
But how meekly He doth pray!
What the Father shall Him offer,
He obediently will suffer.
See, what agony assails Him
In that dark and fearful hour;
Every friend deserts or fails Him;
Satan strikes with all his power;
And the flowers beneath Him grow
Crimson with the purple flow
From His anguished frame distilling
As His cup of woe is filling.
But, O flower, whose tender blossom
Caught that precious, purple dew
From the Saviour’s riven bosom,
In a blessed hour you grew!
Eden’s flowers did not bear
Fruits that could with yours compare:
By the blood your petals staining,
I am now salvation gaining.
When I like the flower must wither,
When I wilt and fade like grass,
When the hour of death draws hither,
When I from this world shall pass,
When my heart has ceased to beat
When I face God’s judgment seat,
Then His blood, which stained the garden,
Shall procure my lasting pardon.
Kingo’s hymns on the pericopes have proved less resistant to time than most of
his other work. They are in reality brief commentaries, presenting a practical rather than a poetical exposition and application of their texts. But even so, the singular freshness of their thought and style has preserved many of them until our day. The following hymn on Matthew 8, 23-27, the stilling of the storm, furnishes a characteristic example of this group of hymns.
What vessel is that passing
Across the boundless deep,
On which the billows massing
In foaming fury sweep?
She seems in sore distress
