p. 1 | The Smitten Christ

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Mar 21, 1871

The Smitten Christ.

I saw my Lord draw nigh, And he was weeping. “Why weepest thou?” I said— “Why weepest thou, O Lord?” He lifted up his head, I listened for his word, Silent he stood, his gaze upon me keeping.

I felt my spirit fail And faint before him; Such sadness in his eyes, Such sorrow in his face, Then spake he in this wise, With accents full of grace— I yearned to clasp his feet and to adore him.

“I have been smitten,” said He, sadly sighing, “Who smote thee, Lord?” I cried, With hot and hasty ire. A FRIEND, my Lord replied, Quenching my sudden fire With such a look as ended Peter’s lying.

“Thou art the smiter,” said Those eyes most holy; “No sufferer’s brutal hand, No reckless scoffer’s spite, No willful foeman’s brand Could thus my bosom smite.” I sank before him, broken, weeping, lowly.

Tenderly then he laid His hand upon me; “Arise, my child,” he said, “Arise, thou art forgiven; Weep not; be comforted; But let thy heart be riven No more by blows from thee; by blood I won thee.”