But he held his peace, and answered nothing.—Mark, 14:61.
Thou hast not faltered at Gethsemane,
O heart, but in the dark alone hast knelt,
And dimly there through thine own anguish felt
Thy Master's struggle and his agony.
But now he calls, "Arise, and follow me,"
And love and pity in his accents melt.
The scourge may mark thee, heart, with welt on welt,
For, lo, the judgment-hall awaiteth thee.
Canst thou stand there as thy dear Master could,
And regal wear as he a crown of thorn?
Canst keep thy silence 'neath the foulest blame,
Hast courage, thou, to be misunderstood.
To face unmoved the whole world's scorn,
The whilst they brand thee with a coward's shame?
Then is thy Master's royal silence thine;
Thy only judge is Truth, supreme, divine.
