"And as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of man be lifted up.
"That whosoever believeth in Him should not perish but have eternal life."
St. John, 3:14, 15.
What means that cry of anguish,
That strikes the distant ear;
The loud and piercing wailing,
In desert wilds we hear?
From Israel's camp it cometh,
For Israel hath rebelled;
And these are cries of anguish,
By wrath of God impelled.
It is no common sorrow,
Extorts that bitter groan;
'Tis from the broken hearted,
And caused by sin alone.
Lo! in the far off desert,
Upon that tented ground,
Are many hundred thousands
Of weary travellers found.
In desert of Arabia,
Near forty years they roam;
And soon they are to enter
"Canaan their happy home."
But come with me and visit
A people so distressed;
They are the seed that Jacob
When dying pronounced blessed.
We'll draw aside the curtain
Of tent that's nearest by;
Ah! what a mournful picture
For stranger's curious eye.
See on that couch reclining,
A young and lovely girl,
With brow and neck half shaded.
By many a clustering curl.
She was an only daughter,
Nurtured with tenderest care;
The idol of her parents,
And fairest of the fair.
In bloom of youth and beauty,
But yesterday she shone;
And her fond parents thought her
A mine of wealth unknown.
She seems like one that sleepeth,
But there's no sign of breath;
And coil'd 'neath her arm a serpent,
Whose bite is certain death.
Yet not alone the mourners
In this sad tent are found;
Shriek after shriek is echoed
For many miles around.
The mother, too, is bitten,
With infant in her arms;
And sire, in strength of manhood;
And bride, with all her charms.
But see on pole suspended,
A serpent now appears;
And hark! what blissful tidings
Salute the mourner's ears.
For every one that's bitten,
A remedy is found;
However bad the case is,
However deep the wound.
If but one spark remaineth
Of life in any soul,
Just look upon this serpent,
That look will make thee whole.
But there's a wound that's deeper
Than fiery serpent gave;
And bite that's doubly fatal,
It kills beyond the grave.
And there's a great physician,
That e'en this wound may cure;
And those to him applying,
May life and health secure.
The broken heart he healeth,
He cures the sin-sick soul;
And all who will behold him,
May look and be made whole.
"I am the way!" he crieth;
"And all who will may come,
I'll pardon their transgression,
And safe conduct them home.
"To cleanse from all pollution,
My blood doth freely flow;
And sins, though red as scarlet,
Shall be as white as snow.
"Thy ransom to pay for thee,
E'en my own life it cost;
And he such love that slighteth,
Forever shall be lost."
April 14, 1853.