For Jesus' sign or word.

I thought He signed that I should yield,
And give the error way.
I held my peace; no word revealed,
No gesture uttered _nay._

Against the cross a scaffold stood,
Whence easy hands could nail
The doomed upon that altar-wood,
Whose fire burns slow and pale.

Upon this ledge he lifted me.
I stood all thoughtful there,
Waiting until the deadly tree
My form for fruit should bear.

Rose up the waves of fear and doubt,
Rose up from heart to brain;
They shut the world of vision out,
And thus they cried amain:

"Ah me! my hands--the hammer's knock--
The nails--the tearing strength!"
My soul replied: "'Tis but a shock,
That grows to pain at length."

"Ah me! the awful fight with death;
The hours to hang and die;
The thirsting gasp for common breath,