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Alfred H. Miles, ed. The Sacred Poets of the Nineteenth Century. 1907.

By The Prisoner of Love (1904). II. The Cup

Frederick William Orde Ward (1843–1922)

  • “O my Father, if this cup may not pass away from Me, except I drink it, Thy will be done.”
  • St. Matt. xxvi. 42.

  • THERE is a Cup, the Saviour drank,

    Who drained it to the very lees,

    We take from God and humbly thank

    When shadow falls and sunshine flees;

    The sorrow which doth make the king

    Who would be crowned by suffering

    And knowledge which alone is rank.

    We all must deeply drink the cup

    Of grief, if we would enter in

    Christ’s fellowship which raiseth up

    The souls redeemed from their sin;

    And then, when we have tasted death

    In Him and trodden it beneath,

    With God Himself at last we sup.

    If it be possible, we say,

    Let this affliction from me fly,

    And bid me walk some softer way

    Than that of Christ’s own Agony!

    But there is Grace sufficient then,

    For God is merciful to men—

    And Heaven is opened as we pray.

    Himself in trial by us stands

    And strengthens us to bear it all,

    The Cup He holdeth in His Hands

    And on His Bosom breaks our fall;

    He drinketh too the bitter first,

    And leaves the sweetness for our thirst—

    Who gives the powers with the commands.