The Defection of the Disciples

Fled!—and from whom? The Man of woeWho in Gethsemane had feltSuch pangs as bade the blood-drops flowAnd the crushed heart with anguish melt?They who were gathered round his board,Partook his love, beheld his power,Saw the sick healed, the dead restored,Fail'd they to watch one fearful hour?

All fled? Yet one there was who laidHis head upon that sacred breast,By Friendship's holy ardor madeA cherished, an illustrious guest;One too, who walked with Christ the waveWhen the mad sea confessed his sway,And strangely sealed her gaping grave,—Fled these forgetfully away?

Yes.—All forsook the Master's sideWhen foes and dangers clustered round,And when in bitterness he cried,'Mid the dread garden's awful bound,Yet knew they not how near him stoodThe host of Heaven, a guardian train,Deploring man's ingratitude,And wondering at his Saviour's pain.

Oh! ye, whose hearts in secret bleedO'er transient Hope, like morning dew,O'er friendship faithless in your need,Or love to all its vows untrue,Who shrink from Persecution's rodOr slander's fang, or Treachery's tone,Look meekly to the Son of God,And in his griefs forget your own.

Forsaken are ye?—so was he,—Reviled?—yet check the vengeful word,—Rejected?—should the servant beExalted o'er his suffering Lord?Nor deem that Heaven's omniscient eyeIs e'er regardless of your lot,—Deluded man from God may fly,But when was man by God forgot?