Good Friday Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: A BCBCDD EFEFGG HIHIJJ AKAKLL MNMNAA KOKOPP QRSRTT UVUUWW XUXUYY ZA2B2A2UU

He is despised and rejected of men Isaiah liiiA
-
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Is it not strange the darkest hourB
That ever dawned on sinful earthC
Should touch the heart with softer powerB
For comfort than an angel's mirthC
That to the Cross the mourner's eye should turnD
Sooner than where the stars of Christmas burnD
-
Sooner than where the Easter sunE
Shines glorious on yon open graveF
And to and fro the tidings runE
Who died to heal is risen to saveF
Sooner than where upon the Saviour's friendsG
The very Comforter in light and love descendsG
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Yet so it is for duly thereH
The bitter herbs of earth are setI
Till tempered by the Saviour's prayerH
And with the Saviour's life blood wetI
They turn to sweetness and drop holy balmJ
Soft as imprisoned martyr's deathbed calmJ
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All turn to sweet but most of allA
That bitterest to the lip of prideK
When hopes presumptuous fade and fallA
Or Friendship scorns us duly triedK
Or Love the flower that closes up for fearL
When rude and selfish spirits breathe too nearL
-
Then like a long forgotten strainM
Comes sweeping o'er the heart forlornN
What sunshine hours had taught in vainM
Of JESUS suffering shame and scornN
As in all lowly hearts he suffers stillA
While we triumphant ride and have the world at willA
-
His pierced hands in vain would hideK
His face from rude reproachful gazeO
His ears are open to abideK
The wildest storm the tongue can raiseO
He who with one rough word some early dayP
Their idol world and them shall sweep for aye awayP
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But we by Fancy may assuageQ
The festering sore by Fancy madeR
Down in some lonely hermitageS
Like wounded pilgrims safely laidR
Where gentlest breezes whisper souls distressedT
That Love yet lives and Patience shall find restT
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O shame beyond the bitterest thoughtU
That evil spirit ever framedV
That sinners know what Jesus wroughtU
Yet feel their haughty hearts untamedU
That souls in refuge holding by the CrossW
Should wince and fret at this world's little lossW
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Lord of my heart by Thy last cryX
Let not Thy blood on earth be spentU
Lo at Thy feet I fainting lieX
Mine eyes upon Thy wounds are bentU
Upon Thy streaming wounds my weary eyesY
Wait like the parched earth on April skiesY
-
Wash me and dry these bitter tearsZ
O let my heart no further roamA2
'Tis Thine by vows and hopes and fearsB2
Long since O call Thy wanderer homeA2
To that dear home safe in Thy wounded sideU
Where only broken hearts their sin and shame may hideU

John Keble



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