BOUGHT FROM 
 
 Miilhern Donation 
 
Ipra Jtnbermca >acra. 
 
Zyra Htberntca g>acra 
 
 COMPILED AND EDITED BY 
 
 Bet), OH* Qfjaclltoaine, D*D, &&M 
 
 Incumbent of S. George's Church, Belfast, and 
 Canon of S. Patrick's, Dublin. 
 
 A. 
 
 18 
 
 D. 
 
 78 
 
 TSelfast 
 
 M'CAW, STEVENSON & ORR, 
 
 Upper Arthur Street. 
 
 Hontion : Dublin : 
 
 GEO. BELL & SONS, HODGES, FOSTER & FIGGIS 
 
 York St., Covent Garden, W.C. Grafton Street. 
 
BELFAST : 
 
 M'CAW, STEVENSON AND ORR, 
 61, UPPER ARTHUR STREET. 
 
YTTO Awpcov a 
 'EXe^avroSerojv /xtrcov AYPA2J 
 ]Ta<ra> Atyvpav OTTO,, 
 'ETTI (rot, /xa/cap', a[JL/3pOTe 
 Tove /cvSiyae irapOevov. 
 
 Synesii Hymnus. 
 
 , Lyre ! whose thrill, in Erin's festive hour, 
 Resounded glad through gilded court and hall ; 
 
 Whose wail, too, rose like Banshee's midnight call 
 When sorrow's shade o'erhead was seen to lower : 
 Once more awake, with all thy trancing power. 
 
 Awake ! a gale of gladness o'er thee steals 
 
 Such as, in Spring-tide, earth reviving feels, 
 Bidding to new-born life bird, brake, and flower. 
 Give to its soothing sway thy trembling strings, 
 
 It breathes upon thee from the courts above ; 
 Soft echoing the choir that ceaseless sings 
 
 Around the Throne ! Awake ! the Heavenly Dove 
 Hovers on high, peace-fraught, with silver wings 
 
 Bathed in bright dew-drops from the fount of Love 
 Which there, as crystal clear, eternal springs. 
 
 78O649 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 JHATEVER estimate may be formed respecting the 
 literary effort here given to the Public, the Editor 
 feels it due to both his readers and himself briefly to 
 state, in the first instance, his main design in the 
 undertaking. 
 
 With such compilations before him as the "Lyra Anglicana" 
 the "Lyra Germanica" and other similar volumes, partaking more 
 or less of a national character, he long since felt it to be, so to 
 speak, a debt due to the country of his birth that the production of 
 a " Lyra Hibernica" should be attempted. Strongly impressed by 
 this idea he mentioned the matter to several literary friends, far 
 more competent to give it effect than himself, and in the enjoyment 
 of more leisure than that afforded by the intervals of time left for 
 such a purpose by an arduous and engrossing occupation. By these, 
 from a variety of alleged reasons, the task was declined ; the issue 
 being, that rather than the idea, if it were worth realization, 
 should come to nought, he was, in a manner, constrained himself 
 to aim at its accomplishment. 
 
 The result is the collection of poems that follows ; and to these 
 prefatory remarks a few more words, respecting its inception and 
 accomplishment, may not be without interest to the reader. It will 
 be perceived that the title of the volume in full is " Lyra Hibernica 
 Sacra," and the addition of the last of these words will serve not 
 only to designate with greater accuracy the nature of its contents, 
 but also to indicate one main object which the compiler had in view 
 in undertaking the work now completed. He does not hesitate to 
 make the avowal that this object was a national one. It was his 
 ardent desire to claim for his country, and to prove the justice of 
 the claim, an attribute which too many would deny, namely, that 
 which may, perhaps, be best expressed by the term sacredness. 
 
 The title once assigned to Ireland "Insula Sanctorum" was not, 
 as every student of her history well knows, an undeserved and empty 
 one. Her soil, to the remotest limit, was once occupied by temples 
 dedicated to the true God and by houses of religion which were at 
 once fountain-heads of learning, and centres whence the streams of 
 Christian charity and civilization flowed to bless the land. Such 
 spots as Armagh, Bangor, Glendalough, and countless others, many 
 of them now deserted and ruinous heaps, were the nurseries of 
 knowledge for thousands of native students, and the resorts of 
 visitants, not only from the sister Island, but from distant lands, in 
 pursuit of secular learning and pure religious truth. 
 
ii Preface. 
 
 With a history such as this, reaching back to far distant ages, it 
 would be a matter of surprise if traces of the poetic as well as of the 
 religious element were not to be found in the national character of 
 Ireland. 
 
 In addition to the study of the native language, itself a primitive 
 and copious one, that of the languages of Greece and Rome 
 especially the latter was, as is well ascertained, carried to a high 
 point of cultivation in the ancient seats of learning in Ireland. 
 Hence it was that the composition of original poetry, as well in the 
 Latin tongue as in that of the country, formed so large a portion of 
 the literature of the bygone day. And what is more germane to 
 the present remarks is the fact, that even after the destruction of 
 ancient Irish MSS., from the date of the Danish invasion and since, 
 quite sufficient of these now well-known and deservedly-prized 
 documents survive to prove that poetry and religion were closely 
 allied in the best and purest eras of Irish literature. 
 
 In illustration of this it may suffice to name such a MS. as the 
 "Liber Hymnorum," preserved in the Library of Trinity College, 
 Dublin, a portion of which has been edited by the late lamented 
 Dr. Todd, or the " Antiphonarium Benchorense, " deposited in the 
 Ambrosian Library. Milan ; in both of which are to be found poems 
 in the Latin and Irish languages, dating from the seventh and 
 eighth centuries and even earlier. Some of these national produc- 
 tions will be found translated in the following pages. 
 
 It is unnecessary here to enter on a more lengthened proof that 
 the poetic element forms a strong and a prominent feature in the 
 national Irish character. The bardic institution, and the place of 
 pre-eminence and sacredness assigned to the bard from the earliest 
 historic period down to the date of Carolan, the last of that race, 
 sufficiently illustrate the national enthusiasm for the poet and his 
 compositions, generally adapted to music and sung by himself. 
 
 Should confirmation of these remarks be required, it may be easily 
 found by any one who will visit the glens and highlands of the North, 
 the West, or the South of Ireland, and listen to the legends as there 
 recited, or the national airs and ballads as sung by the still Irish- 
 speaking inhabitants of these localities. The "Child of Song" still 
 lingers there ; and the effects of his strains on his countrymen are 
 to be traced in many a deed of daring and romance written on the 
 national history. 
 
 These observations are, however, rather digressive, although not 
 altogether unconnected with the thoughts which suggested them 
 namely, that along with the poetic the religious element may be 
 traced as strongly inscribed on the Irish character. 
 
 This statement is in itself temptingly suggestive, although the 
 limits necessarily assigned to a preface enjoin abstinence from any 
 enlargement of it in detail. A few further remarks, however, in 
 connection with it may be permitted. 
 
 Every student of Irish history, for example, is familiar with the fact 
 that in what may be termed the earliest existing narrative of the state 
 of Ireland, at the date of the English Conquest, the English historian, 
 
Preface. in 
 
 Giraldus Cambrensis, testifies strongly and truly to the skill of the 
 native Irish in poetry and instrumental music, especially instancing 
 their use of the harp, the national instrument. And that this love 
 for poetry and its sister art is still strongly developed in the national 
 character, as well as during its past eras, will hardly be questioned. 
 
 Whether this acknowledged fact is in any measure attributable to 
 the physical features of Ireland suggests a question of interest, were 
 this the place for its discussion. The verdure of her sod, the 
 blueness of her lakes, the purple of her heath-clad hills, the majesty 
 of her cloud-capped mountains, the solemn grandeur of her precipi- 
 tous sea-cliffs, the soft repose of her valleys, the wide bosoms and 
 torrent rush of her rivers these and other features of her scenery, 
 may well be taken into account when the national character of her 
 children is under consideration ; to say nothing of the romance con- 
 nected with her unwritten as well as historically transmitted legends. 
 
 In the same connection may be noted a circumstance not perhaps 
 sufficiently observed, namely, that this poetic influence, has been 
 found to infuse itself into the minds even of some who were but visitants 
 in ourlsland, and not among its natives. The productions of Sir 
 Walter Raleigh, for instance, can scarcely be read without a feeling 
 that some portion of the poetic spirit, and that reach of imagination 
 which pervade many of them, might have been caught when he was 
 a denizen of the South of Ireland. And a still more noticeable 
 fact in connection with the subject is, that the entire conception of 
 what may be fitly styled the finest and most purely imaginative 
 poem in the English language, the "Faerie Queene," with many 
 of its scenes and illustrations, owe their birth to Ireland ; when the 
 gifted Edmund Spencer sojourned in Kilcolman Castle, amidst the 
 romantic surroundings of the same remote region. Perhaps it may 
 be allowable to borrow an illustration here even from Theology, 
 while observing that the English-born divine, Bishop Jeremy Taylor, 
 whose poetic prose productions have earned for him the epithet of 
 the " Shakespere of divines," composed the most brilliantly- 
 imaginative of his works, as well as the most exalted in devotional 
 spirit, while his residence was in the then wild region bordering on 
 Lough Neagh, at Portmore, whose ruins still remain to mark a 
 spot deservedly sacred in English literature. It would be un- 
 pardonable here to omit the mention of another but lately 
 removed from among us the lamented William Archer Butler. 
 It was by the banks of the glorious queen of Irish rivers, the 
 Shannon, and while musing among the glens and woods of his 
 birth-place adjoining, that this profound thinker and gifted writer 
 caught the inspiration both of poetry and philosophy which still 
 lives in his remains, and which attracts to them the admiration not 
 only of his own countrymen, but of the European and American 
 continents. Some fragments of his poetry will be found in the 
 following pages, suggestive of a regret that so few of these gems 
 of the sacred muse of our country remain. 
 
 To return, however, from this digression, it was the idea 
 suggested by facts and associations such as these here dwelt on 
 
iv Preface. 
 
 which originally induced the Editor to aim at such a compilation of 
 poetry from the pens of Irish authors as should illustrate the traits 
 of the national character above dwelt on, and which might with 
 justice lay claim to the name of " Lyra Hibernica Sacra" 
 
 With such an object before him, the Editor could not but feel 
 conscious that, if his design might be esteemed a national, it must 
 needs be also an arduous one. However desirous to explore the 
 rich vein of national poetry, to be found in the ancient language of 
 Ireland, and still traditionally preserved, he was debarred from this 
 pursuit by circumstances too many and too evident to need particular 
 mention : and even in the matter of poetry in the English tongue, 
 the productions of Irish-born authors, a good deal of difficulty was 
 to be encountered in the effort to produce a collection which might 
 deservedly be styled national. Convinced, however, that the 
 attempt was a desirable and laudable one, he has made it. and is 
 willing to throw himself for indulgence on his fellow-countrymen 
 and readers in general, while thus presenting it for their acceptance. 
 Should it establish though but imperfectly for his native land 
 a claim for sacredness of feeling and truth of religious perception, 
 as indicated in the poetry of Ireland any labour bestowed on the 
 effort will be abundantly recompensed. 
 
 The table of contents, and the names of the authors selected, will 
 show that the list is far from being exhaustive and complete. This 
 must necessarily be the case when the circumstances under which 
 the selection has been made are taken into account. Little more 
 than a twelvemonth has elapsed since the work was undertaken, 
 and its commencement announced in one or two literary journals in 
 England as well as Ireland. In these notices contributions and 
 assistance in the way of compilation were invited ; and the Editor 
 takes the present as the most suitable opportunity of rendering due 
 thanks to friends of the undertaking who promptly and cordially 
 responded to the invitation given. 
 
 The plan and method pursued in bringing the "Lyra" to com- 
 pletion may be gathered from the foregoing particulars as to its 
 original design. All productions of a sectarian or party spirit, as 
 regards religion, have been carefully excluded ; while politics of 
 every shade have been designedly, indeed of necessity, ignored. 
 Such poetical compositions alone which appeared to possess suffi- 
 cient merit have been included, wholly irrespective of creed and 
 denomination ; provided only that the term sacred could be with 
 truth applied to them, and that the writers owned Ireland as their 
 place of birth. It is, therefore, hoped that the volume may fairly 
 be esteemed catholic in the best and truest sense of the term, while 
 it claims to be distinctly and nationally Irish. 
 
 It is with the utmost satisfaction the Editor is enabled to remark, that 
 while his volume contains selections from the writings of authors past 
 and present, numbering above eighty, all of them, in his judgment, 
 answering the character above given, the whole will be found to 
 breathe the spirit of that religion which, as a Christian nation, we 
 all profess ; many indeed it may be said all of them bearing the 
 
Preface, v 
 
 stamp of heart-utterances, and yet the productions of those who are 
 outwardly separated by attachment to diverse religious creeds. 
 
 If asked to account for this feature of his publication, which some 
 may think objectionable and a blemish, but which he views in a 
 very different light, he would merely observe that, notwithstanding 
 the jarring of religious opinion, which has, alas ! too often and too 
 long proved so fruitful a source of sorrow and suffering to Ireland 
 as to other lands, there is to be found at least one central point 
 towards which all who really deserve the Christian name are ever 
 found to turn. That point is devout acknowledgment of HIM 
 whose name we all still bear love to whom, in sincerity and truth, 
 alone constitutes true religion. That so many of his fellow- 
 countrymen and countrywomen, sufficiently gifted to produce the 
 poetical compositions in the "Lyra Hibernica Sacra," have also in 
 this sense been found of one mind, is to the compiler of the volume 
 a source of unmingled thankfulne-s. He ventures even to add that 
 the same consideration leads him to the indulgence of the hope 
 that the appearance of the volume at this particular period of our 
 country's history may prove in a sense emblematical of better days 
 for our once-distracted Island, and be subsidiary, even in the 
 smallest degree, to the advent of a yet future day, when, as in the I 
 time of old, the dwellers in Ireland shall be one in faith as well as in ] 
 nationality. 
 
 If such be, in the estimation of some, purely a poetic dream, it 
 may be admitted as at least a harmless one. Its realization, how- 
 ever, will by others, as well as by the writer, not perhaps be esteemed 
 wholly a matter of impossibility, should the spirit which manifests 
 itself in the contents of the "Lyra" be found to spread among 
 Irishmen to such an extent as to displace that of faction and religious 
 animosity still lingering among us ; and should the various hues 
 in Ireland's too oftentimes clouded heavens assume, as her gifted 
 Bard once sang 
 
 "One arch of peace." 
 
 Such is the ardent desire and fervent prayer of the present writer, 
 and, as he fondly ^believes and hopes, of not a few of his com- 
 patriots. 
 
 To revert, however, from these perhaps too desultory remarks to 
 the plan and execution of the work itself, it will be observed that 
 the compilation seeks to embrace the writers of verse who have 
 lived in and illustrated Ireland by their compositions from the 
 earliest available periods. Accordingly, the poems of some of our 
 early Irish saints, as SS. Patrick and Columba, appear in an English 
 version ; and although a strictly chronological order has not been 
 observed, the first place has been given, for manifest reasons, to 
 those writers. Next in order will generally be found such 
 writers of poetry in the English tongue as flourished during that 
 era when literature, in our country at least, made any approach to 
 a standard character. Such writers as Roscommon, Parnell, and 
 Tate, bring us down to the day of Skelton and Goldsmith specimens 
 from whose poetry, though necessarily brief, will be here found. 
 
vi Preface. 
 
 With this passing remark as to the chronological order in which 
 the poems appear, the attention of the reader is requested to the 
 division or classification which has been adopted. This at first 
 presented to the Editor some difficulty. It is obvious that 
 in perhaps all the compilations usually styled Lyra, no precise 
 classification whatever is apparent or is attempted. The pieces 
 therein, generally short, fugitive, and lyrical, are strung together 
 wholly irrespective of regular order or system. This method has at 
 least one recommendation, inasmuch as such volumes are generally 
 designed to afford occupation or amusement for a leisure hour, and 
 are thus to be distinguished from regular and systematic collections, 
 as, for example, the works of some individual author. 
 
 From considerations, however, which may be gathered from what 
 has already been here stated, the Editor of the present volume was 
 anxious to devise some classification which while it might embrace, 
 in a measure at least, a variety of authors and subjects essential to 
 all such compilations, should also give to the poems included in it 
 the advantage of being systematically arranged and classified. 
 
 \Yhile casting about for such a plan of arrangement, the Editor 
 happened to recall to mind that division of the earliest devotional 
 Christian poems, twice mentioned by the Apostle S. Paul (Ep., v. 
 19 ; Col., iii. 16), and found it exactly to suit his purpose. 
 
 This is the well-known division of such writings into " psalms, 
 hymns, and spiritual songs," and this is the classification at least 
 one closely akin to it which is found in the following anthology. 
 
 A little consideration will show that this threefold head corres- 
 ponds in a remarkable manner to nearly all the poetical compositions 
 found in the Sacred Volume itself, both in the Old Testament and 
 the Xew ; and may be continued into the inspired poets of the New 
 Testament, as well asof the earliest Christian era. The same remarks 
 will, it is believed, be found to hold good when this classification 
 is applied to the poetical compositions which follow, and which 
 may be thus described : 
 
 I. Sacred Poems. Comprising those of greater length, and 
 characterized by continuity of subject, or of a didactic nature. 
 Such poems will recall to mind and be found to resemble certain of 
 the psalms of the Old Testament, and notably those of a historical 
 nature. 
 
 II. Hymns Proper. It is scarcely necessary more fully to specify 
 such compositions than as they are generally understood and iden- 
 tified with the name itself. These are either direct addresses to the 
 Deity, or such compositions as are specially adapted to religious 
 worship in public, in private, or by individuals. 
 
 III. Sacred Lyrics. This div; a is designed to embrace gene- 
 rally such minor pieces as are not properly included under the 
 other two heads. Although some of those included in the present 
 volume under this head may not, perhaps, answer the description 
 of Lyrics in the strict and technical use of the term, the reader, it is 
 hoped, will pardon any want of critical accuracy apparent in this 
 respect, if only for the sake of the convenience attained by its use. 
 
Preface. vn 
 
 Before concluding these prefatory remarks the Editor feels it 
 expedient to state in a few words, the considerations which have 
 guided him in making a selection from the poems which were before 
 him, their collection being completed. 
 
 The three-fold division adopted, while it subserved the classification 
 of the materials brought together, admitted also the adoption, to a 
 certain extent, of a chronological arrangement. The reader will observe 
 accordingly that throughout the volume, in the arrangement of the 
 larger poems, as well as of the Hymns, and the Lyrics, a catena of 
 authors may be traced, from the date of Ireland's national Saint to 
 the present day. The continuity of this line of writers is, no doubt, 
 broken in many places, and by causes too well known to need 
 special mention. Intestine war, foreign conquest, political struggles, 
 and religious discord are among these : still, it is at once instructive 
 and consolatory to note that, amidst all these disturbing and dis- 
 tracting elements, the national passion for poetry and its associations 
 already referred to, survived, although its existence was a struggling 
 one, and found its expression in the strains of those who lived and 
 wrote during that period. 
 
 It will not be out of place to add here that even in the case of 
 those Irish verse writers who, like our national lyrist, employed 
 their talents chiefly in the cultivation of secular poetry, a strain of 
 deep religious feeling, indicative of the national character, may not 
 unfrequently be traced. 
 
 Something remains to be said respecting the character and quality 
 of the poems selected and included in the collection. The Editor 
 was naturally desirous of making the index of authors as complete 
 as possible, and of including as many of Irish birth as he was 
 enabled to discover. In this it may be feared he will be judged by 
 some to have but partially succeeded. Doubtless many whose 
 names do not appear may have lived and died, or may now live, well 
 deserving a place in such a compilation. Still he is not conscious of 
 having designedly omitted one whose writings, or any of them, 
 might fairly demand admission. If any omissions have taken place, 
 they are to be imputed solely to want of information or opportunity for 
 successful research. Others who follow in the path which has been 
 here marked out will, he hopes, in this respect be more successful. 
 
 So much for the numerical question of authors and their productions. 
 As regards the quality of the poems here selected for publication 
 in other words, their absolute merit that is a question to be decided 
 finally by the general verdict. All he can say is that he hopes none of 
 the poems selected will be deemed unworthy of taking their place in 
 such a volume, and that the whole will reflect no disgrace on the land 
 of its production. His desire was that the poetry included should 
 possess such a degree of excellence that it might be accounted 
 standard. Hence it is that the great majority of pieces from the 
 pens of living writers are taken from volumes or collections already 
 published, and which have received, in a greater or less degree, the 
 stamp of public acceptance. A considerable number of original 
 pieces have been kindly submitted to the Editor for insertion, many 
 
vin Preface. 
 
 of them possessing merit and a promise of future success in the writers, 
 but which, from the considerations just mentioned, he felt con- 
 strained to refrain from including in the "-Lyra." The most suit- 
 able medium for the publication of poetry of this class, even more 
 than ordinarily meritorious, is the periodical publication. Some 
 few poems of this description may be found in the following pages 
 which the Editor felt warranted in selecting, influenced by their 
 exceptional excellence. These are, however, very few ; all beside 
 may, he trusts, be looked on as standard in the sense above in- 
 dicated. 
 
 In offering these observations, the writer would not be understood 
 as in the slightest degree speaking disparagingly of the current 
 poetical literature of our day. On the contrary, he is convinced 
 that what may be styled the fugitive poetry which is now to be 
 found in our periodicals will bear a favourable comparison with 
 what was, at no very distant period, looked upon as standard. But 
 his path as a compiler and editor did not lie in this direction, and 
 this obliged him to deal with his material as has been just mentioned. 
 Should any person with sufficient leisure and suitable opportunity 
 essay a compilation of the latter description, he is persuaded that 
 the attempt will not be made unsuccessfully. 
 
 Only one other remark is necessary, which applies to the entire 
 selection. While the compiler ventures to repeat what has been 
 already stated that the character of sacredness applies to all the 
 poems here given, and that the spirit of catholicity, in its true and 
 Christian sense, breathes through the whole he desires here to add 
 that should the keen eye of criticism discover anywhere some 
 peculiarity of creed or idiosyncrasy of religious feeling making its 
 appearance, he begs to assure his readers that such is there without 
 his consciousness. While responsible for the spirit and tendency 
 of the entire compilation, he desires that individual authors and 
 contributors may be considered accountable for both expression and 
 sentiment of their own productions. He trusts, however, that this 
 personal safeguard is scarcely necessary, and that all who read, as 
 well as those who have contributed to the "Lyra" may be found 
 one, in the best and truest spirit of unity, and in the bond of that 
 peace which shall endure for ever. 
 
 BELFAST, Festival of S. Patrick, 1878. 
 
IX 
 
 Although the acknowledgments of the Editor have been already 
 tendered, generally, to the friends who have favoured his under- 
 taking, he feels that a special recognition of their kindness and 
 co-operation is due to the following : 
 
 Rev. W. REEVES, D.D., Dean of Armagh. 
 
 Rev. R. GIBBINGS, D.D., Professor of Ecclesiastical History, 
 T.C.D. 
 
 Rev. R. TRAVERS SMITH, B.D., Incumbent of S. Bartholomew's, 
 and Canon of S. Patrick's, Dublin. 
 
 Rev. W. MATURIN, D.D., Librarian of Archbishop Marsh's Library. 
 
 DENIS FLORENCE MACCARTHY, Esq., M.R.'I.A., for valuable aid 
 given in connection with the ancient Hymns of Ireland. 
 
 Rev. C. P. GRAVES, A.M., for assistance in collecting the poetical 
 remains of the late Rev. W. Archer Butler. 
 
 Professor E. DOWDF.N, Professor G. F. A. ARMSTRONG, and J. 
 TODHUNTER, M.D. , for permission to select from their pub- 
 lished works, as well a? for important suggestions and infor- 
 mation. 
 
 Rev. J. A. KERR, M.A., and Rev. C. SCOTT, M.A., for assistance 
 rendered in the compilation. 
 
 JAMES STELFOX, Esq., of Southport, for correct information res- 
 pecting the authorship of Hymns, especially those composed 
 by members of the Wesleyan body. 
 
 Miss DREW, London, for much useful information of a similar kind. 
 
 S. FERGUSON, Esq., for permission to employ the copyright vignette 
 of title-page by Burton, as well as for original contributions to 
 the Lyra. 
 
 (ZBrtata* 
 
 PAGE 
 17, Note. fa Rev. J. W. Deans, D.D., read Rev. J. W. Irons, 
 
 D.D. 
 
 254, Hymn cxxxvi, first line. for Might read Light. 
 284, Hymn CLXVII. for affection's read affliction's. 
 301, 302, 303. *Rev. T. V. Fosbery remove * 
 307. For *Rev. J. Andrnvs read *Rev. Samuel Andrews. 
 326, 327, 328. * Sir W. R. Hamilton remove * 
 329. *Rev. Abraham Oulton remove * 
 341. For Hymn ccxxvn, omitted in error, see Appendix. 
 
I. 
 
 . Patricii/* 
 
 BIND to myself to-day, 
 
 The strong power of an invocation of 
 
 the Trinity, 
 
 The faith of the Trinity in Unity, 
 The Creator of the elements. 
 
 2. I bind to myself to-day, 
 
 The power of the Incarnation of Christ, 
 
 with that of his Baptism, 
 The power of the Crucifixion, with that of 
 
 his Burial, 
 The power of the Resurrection, with the 
 
 Ascension, 
 The power of the coming to the Sentence 
 
 of Judgment. 
 
 3. I bind to myself to-day, 
 
 The power of the love of Seraphim, 
 
 In the obedience of Angels, 
 
 In the hope of Resurrection unto reward, 
 
 * This metrical composition which is referred to by Archbishop 
 Ussher was first made known to English readers by the late Dr. Petrie, 
 in his Memoir of Tara, published in 1839, vol. xviii. of the Transactions 
 
2 Sacred Poems. 
 
 In the prayers of the noble Fathers, 
 In the predictions of the Prophets, 
 In the preaching of Apostles, 
 In the faith of Confessors, 
 In the purity of Holy Virgins, 
 In the acts of Righteous Men. 
 
 4. 1 >>imi to myself to-day, 
 The power of Heaven, 
 'I he l:-ht of the Sun, 
 The white'hess of Snow, 
 The force of Fire, 
 The flashing of Lightning, 
 The velocity of Wind, 
 The depth of the Sea, 
 The stability of the Earth, 
 The hardness of Rocks. 
 
 of the Royal Irish Academy, from the Liber Hymnorum, preserved in 
 the Library of Trinity College, Dublin. It is, undoubtedly, of great 
 antiquity, the Irish dialect in which the original is written being the 
 same as that employed in the compilation of the ancient "Brehon 
 Laws." It is given by Dr. Petrie, in the memoir referred to, in 
 the original and in Irish characters, with an interlineary Latin 
 version, as also in an English translation, accompanied by copious 
 learned annotations. The translation above given is from the pen of 
 the late Dr. Todd, whose character and learning are sufficient guarantees 
 for its accuracy. It is found in his volume "6". Patrick, Apostle of 
 Ireland" wherein he remarks respecting it: "This hymn is of the 
 nature of what was called a " Lorica" that is to say, a prayer to 
 protect those who devoutly recite it from bodily and spiritual danger." 
 Several such have been preserved in ancient Irish MSS. still in 
 existence, and are named in that language Luirech. One ascribed to S. 
 Columba, and referred to by Dr. Todd, bears a close resemblance to that 
 of S. Patrick. The tradition respecting its primary use by the saint is 
 that he recited it on Easter Sunday, when proceeding to encounter the 
 druidical fire worshippers, with their pagan king, Laoghaire, and his 
 court, at Tara, the royal residence. For a full account of this trans- 
 action, and the success attending k's mission, the reader may 
 be referred, among other authorities, to the learned work of Dr. Todd 
 already mentioned. The spirited poetical version by James Clarence 
 Mangan is subjoined to Dr. Todd's. Although varying somewhat in 
 its rendering from the original and the Latin version a matter, perhaps, 
 to be regretted the whole is possessed of such vigour and general 
 faithfulness that it would be unjust to its gifted author to omit it from this 
 collection. 
 
Sacred Poems. 
 
 5. I bind to myself to-day. 
 
 The Power of God to guide me, 
 The Might of God to uphold me, 
 The Wisdom of God to teach me, 
 The Eye of God to watch over me, 
 The Ear of God to hear me, 
 The Word of God to give me speech, 
 The Hand of God to protect me, 
 The Way of God to prevent me, 
 The Shield of God to shelter me, 
 The Host of God to defend me, 
 
 Against the snares of demons, 
 
 Against the temptations of vices, 
 
 Against the lusts of nature, 
 
 Against every man who meditates injury to me, 
 Whether far or near, 
 With few or with many. 
 
 6. I have set around me all these powers, 
 
 Against every hostile savage power, 
 
 Directed against my body and my soul, 
 
 Against the incantations of false prophets, 
 
 Against the black laws of heathenism, 
 
 Against the false laws of heresy, 
 
 Against the deceits of idolatry, 
 
 Against the spells of women, and smiths, and druids, 
 
 Against all knowledge which blinds the soul of man. 
 
 7. Christ protect me to-day, 
 
 Against poison, against burning, 
 Against drowning, against wound, 
 That I may receive abundant reward. 
 
 8. Christ with me, Christ before me, 
 Christ behind me, Christ within me, 
 Christ beneath me, Christ above me, 
 Christ at my right, Christ at my left, 
 Christ in the fort, 
 
 Christ in the chariot-seat, 
 Christ in the poop. 
 A 2 
 
4 Sacred Poems. 
 
 9. Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me, 
 Christ in the mouth of every man who speaks to me, 
 Christ in every eye that sees me, 
 Christ in every ear that hears me. 
 
 10. I bind to myself to-day, 
 
 The strong power of an invocation of the Trinity, 
 The faith of the Trinity in Unity, 
 The Creator of the Elements. 
 
 11. Domini est salus, 
 Domini est salus, 
 Christi est salus, 
 
 Salus tua Domine sit semper nobiscum. 
 
 James Henthorn Todd, D.D. 
 
 %>. Patrick's ^pmn before Carat). 
 
 -TIT TAR AH TO-DAY, in this awful hour, 
 ** I call on the Holy Trinity ! 
 Glory to Him who reigneth in power, 
 The God of the elements, Father, and Son, 
 And Paraclete Spirit, which Three are the One, 
 The ever-existing Divinity ! 
 
 AT TARAH TO-DAY I call on the Lord, , 
 
 On Christ, the Omnipotent Word, 
 
 Who came to redeem from Death and Sin 
 
 Our fallen race ; 
 
 And I put and I place 
 The virtue that lieth and liveth in 
 
 His Incarnation lowly, 
 
 His Baptism pure and holy, 
 His life of toil, and tears, and affliction, 
 His dolorous Death His Crucifixion, 
 
Sacred Poems. 5 
 
 His Burial, sacred, and sad, and lone, 
 
 His Resurrection to life again, 
 His glorious Ascension to Heaven's high Throne, 
 And lastly His future dread 
 
 And terrible coming to judge all men 
 Both the Living and Dead 
 
 AT TARAH TO-DAY I put and I place 
 
 The virtue that dwells in the Seraphim's love, 
 And the virtue and grace 
 
 That are in the obedience 
 And unshaken allegiance 
 
 Of all the Archangels and angels above, 
 And in the hope of the Resurrection 
 To everlasting reward and election, 
 And in the prayers of the Fathers of old, 
 And in the truths the Prophets foretold, 
 And in the Apostles' manifold preachings, 
 And in the Confessors' faith and teachings, 
 And in the purity ever dwelling 
 
 Within the immaculate Virgin's breast,* 
 And in the actions bright and excelling 
 
 Of all good men, the just and the blest 
 
 AT TARAH TO-DAY, in this fateful hour, 
 
 I place all Heaven, with its power, 
 
 And the sun, with its brightness, 
 
 And the snow, with its whiteness, 
 
 And fire, with all the strength it hath, 
 
 And lightning, with its rapid wrath, 
 
 And the winds, with their swiftness along their path, 
 
 And the sea, with its deepness, 
 
 And the rocks with their steepness, 
 
 And the earth, with its starkness, 
 All these I place- 
 By GOD'S almighty help and grace, 
 
 Between myself and the Powers of Darkness. 
 
 This is unquestionably a mistranslation of the original, viz. 
 
 " In castitate Sanctarum Virginum." 
 " In the purity of Holy Virgins." (f. H. Todd).En. 
 
Sacred Poems. 
 
 AT TARAH TODAY 
 May GOD be my stay ! 
 May the strength of GOD now nerve me ! 
 May the power of GOD preserve me ! 
 May GOD the Almighty be near me ! 
 
 May GOD the Almighty espy me ! 
 May GOD the Almighty hear me ! 
 
 May GOD give me eloquent speech ! 
 May the arm of GOD protect me ! 
 May the wisdom of GOD direct me ! 
 
 May GOD give me power to teach and to preach ! 
 
 May the shield of GOD defend me ! 
 May the host of GOD attend me, 
 
 And ward me, 
 
 And guard me, 
 
 Against the wiles of demons and devils, 
 Against the temptations of vices and evils, 
 Against the bad passions and wrathful will 
 
 Of the reckless mind and the wicked heart, 
 Against every man who designs me ill, 
 
 Whether leagued with others or plotting apart ! 
 
 IN THIS HOUR OF HOURS, 
 
 I place all those powers 
 Between myself and every foe, 
 
 Who threatens my body and soul 
 
 With danger or dole, 
 To protect me against the evils that flow 
 From lying soothsayers' incantations, 
 From the gloomy laws of the Gentile nations, 
 From Heresy's hateful innovations, 
 From Idolatry's rites and invocations. 
 Be those my defenders, 
 
 My guards against every ban 
 And spell of smiths and Druids, and women ; 
 In fine, against every knowledge that renders 
 
 The light Heaven sends us dim in 
 The spirit and soul of Man ! 
 
Sacred Poems. 
 
 MAY CHRIST, I PRAY, 
 Protect me to-day 
 Against poison and fire, 
 Against drowning and wounding: 
 That so, in His grace abounding, 
 I may earn the Preacher's hire ! 
 
 CHRIST, as a light, 
 
 Illumine and guide me ! 
 
 CHRIST, as a shield, o'ershadow and cover me ! 
 CHRIST be under me ! CHRIST be over me ! 
 
 CHRIST be beside me 
 
 On left hand and right ! 
 CHRIST be before me, behind me, about me ! 
 CHRIST this day be within and without me ! 
 
 CHRIST, the lowly and meek, 
 
 CHRIST, the All-Powerful, be 
 In the heart of each to whom I speak, 
 In the mouth of each who speaks to me ! 
 In all who draw near me, 
 Or see me or hear me ! 
 
 AT TARA TO-DAY, in this awful hour, 
 
 I call on the Holy Trinity ! 
 Glory to Him who reigneth in power, 
 The GOD of the Elements, Father, and Son, 
 And Paraclete Spirit, which Three are the One, 
 The ever-existing Divinity ! 
 
 Salvation dwells with the Lord, 
 
 With CHRIST, the Omnipotent Word. 
 
 From generation to generation 
 
 Grant us, O Lord, thy grace and salvation ! 
 
 James Clarence Mangan. 
 
8 Sacred Poems. 
 
 Cbe ^>pmn of S. Colum&a.* 
 
 " ALTUS PROSATOR." 
 ii. 
 
 4JT HE Father exalted : ancient of days, unbegotten, 
 
 ^ Without or beginning or origin : ever-existing, 
 
 Is and shall be : to infinite ages of ages. 
 
 With whom is Christ, sole begotten : with whom, too, the 
 
 Spirit, 
 
 Co-eternal in Glory : in Godhead alike everlasting. 
 We preach not three Gods : One GOD we proclaim, and One 
 
 only 
 Saving our faith in Three Persons : eternally glorious. 
 
 Creator is He of blest Angels : Archangels, and Orders, 
 Principalities, Thrones : of Powers, and also of Virtues ; 
 Lest goodness and majesty lodged in the Trinity : might be 
 
 inactive. 
 Boundless in functions of might : and in beauteousness 
 
 endless, 
 
 Thus manifesting itself : employed in proclaiming 
 Graces celestial and vast : in boundless expression. 
 
 Down from the summit of Heaven : of order Angelic, 
 Down from effulgence of brightness : from loveliness peerless, 
 
 * This composition, like that which precedes it, is found in the Liber 
 Hymnorum, and is given by Dr. Todd, in the second volume of his extracts 
 from that valuable collection edited by him for the "Irish Archaeological 
 and Celtic Society," in 1869. Although styled The Hymn of S. 
 Columba, as is the Lorica of S. Patrick, both are here classed among 
 "Sacred Poems" of greater length. It is believed that most readers 
 will agree in the propriety of this classification. The version above 
 given is nearly verbatim, that of Dr. Todd, which accurately conveys 
 the sense of the original. The slight alteration ventured on by the 
 Editor, in reducing it to the form of English hexameters, was for the 
 purpose of lending to it a measured or rhythmical character. 
 
Sacred Poems. 9 
 
 Fell Lucifer, whom GOD had made : pride proving his 
 
 downfall, 
 
 And with him the angels apostate : in like ruin mingled, 
 He of vain-glory the author : of obstinate envy ; 
 Though steadfast remaining the rest : in dominion celestial. 
 
 The Dragon most potent and foul : terrific and ancient, 
 
 Serpent of slimy deceit : excelling in wisdom 
 
 Every beast of the earth : of force full and fierceness ; 
 
 He with himself downward drew : of bright stars the third 
 
 part 
 
 Into the regions infernal : and dark prisons diverse, 
 Erring deserters of light : headlong cast by the traitor. 
 
 In foresight deep the Most High : had poised the harmonious 
 
 structure, 
 The heavens above the earth : had founded the sea and the 
 
 waters, 
 Also the upspringing grasses : the shrubs, with their twining 
 
 tendrils ; 
 The sun, the moon, and the stars : the fire, and all things 
 
 needful ; 
 
 Birds, with fishes, and cattle : beasts and all living creatures ; 
 Last He created primal man : ruler of all around him. 
 
 The stars that brightened the ether : made all by one act of 
 
 Godhead, 
 
 Structure amazingly great : united with angels in praising 
 The Lord of the Mass immense : Architect great of the 
 
 heavens. 
 
 Glorious their worship and meet : their praise everlasting. 
 All these, with noble consent : thanks to their Maker 
 
 rendered, 
 In free and heaven-taught love : not from endowment of 
 
 nature. 
 
 Both our first parents thus : tempted, assailed, and taken, 
 The Devil a second time falls : with his satellites banded ; . 
 Horror their aspect filled : woful the sound of their flight. 
 
io Sacred Poems. 
 
 Well may frail man, too, fear : well may he sink in dismay, 
 Unable, with bodily vision : to look on such terrible things. 
 There are the fallen ones bound : tied in their prison-house 
 fearful. 
 
 He, too, their Chief, in the midst : thus by the Lord is cast 
 down, 
 
 While the wide space of the air : darkly and densely is 
 filled 
 
 With the tumultuous crowd : satellites set in rebellion, 
 
 Hid from man's sight lest he : pursue their example and 
 crimes ; 
 
 Neither encompassing wall nor screen : their iniquity hiding. 
 
 While to all is proclaimed their sin : even the soul's forni- 
 cation. 
 
 Up from the wintry floods : the clouds their moisture carry, 
 Up from the threefold depths of the sea : from ocean regions, 
 To the climates of heaven above : in azure whirlwinds 
 Destined to render fruitful : crops, and vineyards, and 
 
 orchards, 
 
 Driven along by the winds : issuing forth from their treasures, 
 Erupting still in their turns : the pools of the ocean. 
 
 The tottering glory of tyrants : the passing and present 
 Mightiest kings of the world : set aside by God's judgment, 
 Lo ! the just doom of the giants : to groan beneath waters, 
 Great is the torment : the burning of fire and consumption, 
 Plunged in the swelling Charybdis : drowned in Cocytus, 
 In Scylla o'erwhelmed : by waves and by rocks dashed to 
 pieces. 
 
 Ever the Lord drops down the waters : bound in the clouds, 
 Lest they should all break forth at once : their barriers 
 
 bursting, 
 
 And from thin streams of fertility : gradual flowing, 
 As from the wedders of kine : throughout the earth's 
 
 regions, 
 
 Cold alternate and warm : at different seasons, 
 Rivers that never fail : are constantly flowing. 
 
Sacred Poems. n 
 
 By the power divine of Great GOD : are constant sustained 
 The globe of the earth : and the circle which bounds the 
 
 abyss, 
 
 The strong hand of GOD, the Omnipotent : ever-supporting, 
 On its firm column, the same : as beams of a building; 
 Promontories, also, and rocks : on solid foundations 
 Firm, and immovably fixed : and strengthened their bases. 
 
 To no man seemeth it doubtful : Hell lies in lowest places. 
 Region of darkness and worms : haunt of dreadful creatures, 
 Where is consuming fire : blasting with flame consuming, 
 Where are the groans of men : weeping and gnashing of 
 
 teeth, 
 
 Where is the terrible wail ever heard : of ancient Gehenna, 
 Where is the horrid consumption of thirst : and anguish of 
 
 hunger. 
 
 Below the earth, as we read : 'tis known there are dwellers, 
 Often in prayer whose knee : to the Lord is bent. 
 Impossible still it is : to unroll the book written, 
 Sealed with its seven seals : with warnings abounding, 
 Which opened yet He hath : and so became victor, 
 Fulfilling the glory prophetic : that waits on His advent. 
 
 That Paradise at the beginning : was by the Lord planted, 
 Read we in Genesis written : record most noble ; 
 From whose gushing fountain head : four rivers are flowing, 
 And in whose flowery midst : is placed the Tree of Life, 
 Whose leaves bringing health to the Gentiles : fail not for 
 
 ever, 
 Unspeakable are whose joys : and also abundant. 
 
 Who hath ascended to Sinai : God's chosen mountain ? 
 Who its thunders hath heard : beyond measure resounding 
 With the clang of the trumpet terrific : fearfully pealing ? 
 Who the lightnings hath seen : wild flashing around ? 
 Who the lamps and the darts : the rocks rent and falling ? 
 Who but Moses : the judge of the people of Israel ? 
 
12 Sacred Poems. 
 
 The day of the Lord, King of Kings : most righteous is 
 
 nigh; 
 
 A day of wrath and vengeance : of darkness and cloud ; 
 A day of thunders astounding : awful and mighty ; 
 A day of trouble and anguish : sadness and grief; 
 When shall be ended : the passionate love of woman, 
 Ended the strife of man : and the last of this world. 
 
 Trembling we all shall stand : at the Lord's judgment seat, 
 Then an account shall we render : of all our deeds, 
 Beholding also our crimes : spread forth in our sight, 
 As well as the book of conscience : laid open before us. 
 Then shall break forth : most bitter weeping and sobs 
 The day for obedience gone : the call for life-service with- 
 drawn. 
 
 The trump of the great Archangel : its wonders proclaiming, 
 The strongest cloisters shall burst : wide open the tombs 
 
 shall stand, 
 
 Rent by the freezing cold : that chills this earth of ours. 
 Then bone shall gather to bone : and joint to joint, 
 As meets the ethereal soul : with the body again, 
 Returning to tenant the mansion : where erst it dwelt. 
 
 Christ, the most mighty Lord : from heaven descending. 
 Glorious the banner : signed with the cross shall shine ; 
 Stricken the two chief lights : in the heaven o'erhead, 
 The stars to the earth shall fall : as fruit from the fig tree. 
 Earth's compass shall be as the blast : of a furnace that 
 
 burns. 
 Then shall the waning hosts hide themselves : in the caves of 
 
 the mountains. 
 
 High shall the chanted hymns swell : all ceaseless resounding, 
 Sung by the thousands of angels : in chorus rejoicing, 
 Joined by the living ones four : whose eyes are unnumbered, 
 Also the elders : the twenty and four on thrones seated, 
 All 'neath the feet of the Lamb of GOD : casting their 
 
 crowns, 
 Praising the Trinity ever : in endless repeatings. 
 
Sacred Poems. 13 
 
 Fiercely indignant : the fire shall devour the opposers, 
 
 All who refuse to believe : that Christ comes from the 
 
 Father ; 
 
 But we, up borne, shall fly : forthwith to meet Him, 
 And with him for ever shall be : among orders celestial, 
 Eternal to each the reward : attained by deserving, 
 Thus to remain in His glory : for ever and ever. 
 
 y. H. Todd (versified by Editor). 
 
 a 0olis ottus CatDine; 
 
 4t"ROM the far rising of the sun 
 J' To where his utmost course is run, 
 Sing we the Christ, of Virgin born, 
 With kingly praise His name adorn. 
 
 Though from Eternity His sway, 
 Our flesh He made His mean array ; 
 Redeeming, thus, from endless death, 
 The race that owed to Him its breath. 
 
 The spotless Virgin's favoured womb 
 Of Grace Divine becomes the home ; 
 And wonders, passing human thought, 
 Unknown and secret, there are wrought. 
 
 * The selections here given from the writings of the ancient poets of 
 Ireland would be manifestly incomplete without some extract from those 
 of Sedulius. That Ireland may justly claim as her own this illustrious 
 theologian and poet there can be little doubt, the epithet "Scotus Hyber- 
 nensis" being given to him in the ancient manuscripts and earliest printed 
 editions of his works. He flourished in the middle of the fifth century, 
 and was a voluminous prose writer, as well as an accomplished 
 poet. It may be remarked that this author should be carefully dis- 
 tinguished from another of the same name, with whom our countryman 
 is sometimes confounded. It is much to be regretted that the prose 
 works of Sedulius have, in late years, become little known, and his 
 poetical productions very difficult of access. The only complete 
 collection of his poems which has come within the reach of the Editor is 
 
14 Sacred Poems. 
 
 The maiden's bosom, pure abode, 
 Becomes a temple meet for God ; 
 An earthly partner all unknown 
 THE WORD her offspring proves alone. 
 
 The mother's thankful arms enfold 
 The Babe whom Gabriel had foretold ; 
 Whom, though unborn, with prophet's eye, 
 The Baptist John could yet descry. 
 
 In manger-shed, amidst the kine, 
 All lowly lies the Babe Divine ; 
 Milk from a mother's breast is given 
 To Him who feeds the birds of heaven. 
 
 one embodied in a rare edition of mediaeval Latin poets in Archbishop 
 Marsh's Library, Dublin. This volume is from the Aldine press, dated 
 Venice, 1 502. A tolerably faithful, but coarsely printed collection of the 
 poems of our author, dated Edinburgh, 1701, exists in the same library. 
 The poem here reproduced is from the volume above indicated, where 
 it is found with the following title : " C. Sedulii Presbyteri Hymnus 
 de Christo,succincte ab Incarnatione usque ad Resurrectionem" Prefixed 
 to this is the following " Sedulii Epigramma" : 
 
 Hsec tuse perpetuae quse scripsi dogmata vitse 
 Corde rogo facias Christe manere meo : 
 
 Ut tibi quse placeant tete favente requirens 
 Gaudia coelorum te duce Christe metam. 
 
 There is no doubt that this remarkable poem is the production of the 
 Irish Sedulius, and consists of a continuous historical record of the prin- 
 cipal events in the life of our Lord. It is alphabetical, and numbers 23 
 stanzas, each commencing with one of the letters from A to Z. Two por- 
 tions of the Hymn of Sedulius have been incorporated in the Hymns of the 
 Roman Breviary, each consisting of a few stanzas of the original. The 
 former of these is entitled De Nativitate Domini, commencing with the 
 words with which the original begins A solis ortus cardine. The latter is 
 headed De Epiphania Domini, and commences with the words " Hostis 
 ff erodes impie. Both these are favourite hymns, that on the Nativity 
 having been more than once translated into English. Considering it a 
 matter of interest and importance that the entire should become more 
 generally known, the Editor has attempted an English version, the only 
 merit to which this can lay claim being its close accordance with the 
 original in the metre as well as in the sense. 
 
Sacred Poems. 15 
 
 The heavenly choir their anthem raise 
 Angels unite their Lord to praise ; 
 While to the shepherds of the field 
 The God Incarnate is revealed. 
 
 Thou, hostile Herod, whence those fears ? 
 Is it that Christ on earth appears ? 
 As though He grasped at earthly things, 
 Who rules o'er all, the King of Kings ! 
 
 The Eastern Magi, from afar, 
 
 Eager pursue the guiding star ; 
 
 Led by its beam, true light they seek, 
 
 And own their God with offerings meek. 
 
 The matron crowd beholds, aghast, 
 To earth its infant offspring cast ; 
 Thus, through the tyrant's rage, doth rise 
 To Christ a spotless sacrifice. 
 
 Where flows the river's cleansing flood 
 The Lamb of God all meekly stood, 
 By His obedience to atone 
 For our transgressions not His own. 
 
 His wondrous acts for Christ have won 
 His Name the Eternal Father's Son ; 
 Before His glance disease hath fled, 
 To life come forth th' awakened dead. 
 
 The water owns a power Divine, 
 And, conscious, blushes into wine ; 
 Its very nature changed, displays 
 The power Divine that it obeys. 
 
 Lo ! the centurion comes to crave 
 Recovery for his dying slave ; 
 Such faith can pitying answer claim, 
 And quench e'en fever's scorching flame. 
 
1 6 Sacred Poems. 
 
 See Peter walk the swelling wave, 
 
 His Lord's right hand outstretched to save ; 
 
 The path, which nature's law denies, 
 
 To trusting faith still open lies. 
 
 Four days within the noisome grave 
 
 Lay Lazarus He comes to save. 
 
 Rent by His Word are death's strong chains, 
 
 As life and light its prey regains. 
 
 Deep crimson stains, a noxious flood, 
 Pollute the garment dyed with blood , 
 A pleading suppliant draws nigh. 
 And straight the flowing stream is dry. 
 
 A sufferer, palsied in each limb, 
 Pours forth his earnest prayer to Him ; 
 No pause ensues, no long delay 
 Instant he bears his couch away. 
 
 Now hath the traitor basely sold 
 His Master, for the bargained gold ; 
 The kiss of peace he dares impart, 
 While treason lurks within his heart. 
 
 Vainly the JUST, the HOLY pleads, 
 His back beneath the dread scourge bleeds ; 
 Nailed to the Cross, on either hand, 
 The vilest of the robber band. 
 
 The Sabbath dawns, and to the tomb, 
 With unguents rare, fond women come \ 
 To whom the angel voice is sped, 
 " Seek not the living 'midst the dead !" 
 
 Now raise we all the joyous strain, 
 With sweet, triumphant, fond refrain ; 
 The Christ hath conquered ! Death and Hell 
 Redemption's mighty victory swell ! 
 
Sacred Poems. 17 
 
 Quenched is the dragon's fiery zeal, 
 Crushed is the Lion neath His heel ; 
 To Heaven ascending, thou hast trod 
 The path of glory, Son of God. 
 
 * Canon Macllwaine. 
 
 ftae,* 
 
 THOMAS A CELANO. 
 
 IV. 
 
 ?T^ AY of ire, woe worth that day ! 
 *^ Earth in dust shall flee away 
 Thus both Seer and Sibyll say. 
 
 Oh ! what trembling then shall be, 
 When the Judge appeareth ! He 
 Every hidden thing shall see. 
 
 Dread the trumpet's voice shall sound 
 Through the tomb's repose profound, 
 Bidding all the Throne surround, 
 
 * A few explanatory words may be allowed for the introduction here 
 of the above version of the "Dies Ira" Archbishop Trench most 
 justly assigns to it "a foremost place among the masterpieces of ancient 
 song," adding the following remarks " It is not wonderful that such a 
 poem as this should have continually allured, and continually defied 
 translaters." Jeremy Taylor, in a letter to John Evelyn, suggests to 
 him that he should make a version of it: "I was thinking to have 
 begged of you a translation of that well-known hymn, Dies irce, dies ilia, 
 which, if it were a little changed, would make an excellent divine 
 song." {Sacred Latin Poetry, p. 300). Evelyn, as the Archbishop 
 observes, did not comply with the request, but several versions in 
 English exist, and, among them, the partial translation of Sir Walter 
 Scott, universally known. The latest, perhaps, is that by the Rev. J. W. 
 Deans, D.D., in Hymns Ancient and Modern. What induced the Editor, 
 at the first, to assign a place to it in this collection was the fact that 
 among the earliest, if not the very earliest, translations of the entire 
 poem into English verse is that of the Earl of Roscommon (born 1633, 
 B 
 
1 8 Sacred Poems. 
 
 Death and nature sink with fear, 
 
 As Creation draweth near, 
 
 From the Judge her doom to hear. 
 
 See ! the Written Word outspread, 
 Witnessing 'gainst quick and dead, 
 Shall before the world be read. 
 
 When the Judge His seat hath ta'en, 
 All concealment shall be vain 
 Nothing unavenged remain. 
 
 Wretch ! what then shall be my plea ? 
 Who shall intercede for me ? 
 Scarce the righteous saved shall be. 
 
 died 1684), included in his works. That nobleman being of Irish birth, 
 it was considered that his rendering of the Italian poet's production might 
 fairly claim a place in a Lyra Hibernica. Further consideration, how- 
 ever, induced the writer to substitute the translation given above, as 
 being more literal, and, as such, more likely to afford a correct idea, 
 and thus to do more justice to the original. A few stanzas of the older 
 version, taken from the commencement and the close, will illustrate 
 these remarks. 
 
 The day of wrath that dreadful day 
 
 Shall the whole world in ashes lay From that insatiable abyss, 
 
 As David and the Sibyl say. Where flames devour and serpents hiss, 
 
 Promote me to Thy seat of bliss. 
 What horror will invade the mind, 
 
 When the strict Judge, who would be Prostrate, my contrite heart I rend, 
 
 kind, My God, my Father, and my Friend, 
 
 Shall have few venial faults to find. Do not forsake me in the end. 
 
 It will not be taken amiss, it may be hoped, that another attempt at 
 rendering into the vernacular this marvellous production is here given, 
 when the universal admiration bestowed on it, and its adoption into the 
 devotional poetry of Christians of all denominations, and of almost every 
 clime and country, are borne in mind. In the German language alone, 
 and in one volume devoted to their collection, no less than 43 versions 
 are found. Its author, Thomas of Celano, so called from the place of 
 his birth, was an Italian, who lived in the thirteenth century, a friend 
 and scholar of S. Francis'of Assissi, and one of the earliest members of 
 the new order of Minorites, founded by him in 1208. His fame rests 
 chiefly, if not altogether, on the Dies irce\ but that will last as long as 
 the Church on earth endures. 
 
Sacred Poems. 19 
 
 King of Majesty supreme, 
 Who ail-freely dost redeem, 
 Save me, mercy's fount and stream ! 
 
 Jesu ! bear in mind, I pray, 
 
 Who hath caused thy earthward way; 
 
 Spurn me not on that dread day. 
 
 Me thou soughtest, weary, worn, 
 Bending 'neath thy Cross did'st mourn 
 Was such labour vainly borne ? 
 
 Justly vengeful and severe, 
 Yet forgiving, bow thine ear 
 Ere the reckoning day appear. 
 
 Hear my groans, Lord, self accused, 
 See my face, with shame suffused : 
 Ne'er be suppliant's suit refused. 
 
 Thou did'st Mary's guilt remove, 
 Thou the Robber's refuge prove, 
 Rests my hope, too, in Thy love. 
 
 All unworthy is my prayer 
 Pitying One, in mercy rare, 
 From the fire unending spare. 
 
 With the sheep that I may stand, 
 Sundered from the goat's vile band, 
 Set me at Thy own right hand. 
 
 When the cursed, dire opprest, 
 Sink in flames to deep unrest, 
 Deign to call me with the blest. 
 
 As in prayer I lowly bend 
 Hear my heartfelt sighs ascend, 
 Bear me scathless to the end. Amen. 
 
 Canon Macllwaine. 
 
 B 2 
 
2o Sacred Poems. 
 
 Hone. 
 
 v. 
 
 A^EEMETH not Love at times so occupied 
 
 ^^ For thee, as though it cared for none beside ? 
 
 To great and small things Love alike can reach, 
 And cares for each as all, and all as each. 
 
 Love of my bonds partook, that I might be 
 In turn partaker of its liberty. 
 
 Love found me in the wilderness, at cost 
 Of painful quests, when I myself had lost. 
 
 Love on its shoulders joyfully did lay 
 Me, weary with the greatness of my way. 
 
 Love lit the lamp and swept the house all round, 
 Till the lost money in the end was found. 
 
 Love the King's image there would stamp again, 
 Effaced in part, and soiled with rust and stain. 
 
 'Twas Love, whose quick and ever-watchful eye 
 The wanderer's first step homeward did espy. 
 
 From its own wardrobe Love gave word to bring, 
 What things I needed shoes, and robe, and ring. 
 
 Love threatens that it may not strike, and still 
 Unheeded, strikes, that so it may not kill. 
 
 Love set me up on high ; when I grew vain 
 
 Of that my height, Love brought me down again. 
 
Sacred Poems. 21 
 
 Love often draws good for us from our ill, 
 Skilful to bless us even against our will. 
 
 The bond-servant of Love alone is free ; 
 All other freedom is but slavery. 
 
 How far above all price Love's costly wine, 
 Which can the meanest chalice make divine ! 
 
 Fear this effects, that I do not the ill, 
 Love more that I thereunto have no will. 
 
 Seeds burst not their dark cells without a throe ; 
 All birth is effort ; shall not Love's be so ? 
 
 Love weeps, but from its eyes these two things win 
 The largest tears its own, its brother's sin. 
 
 The sweetness of the trodden camomile 
 
 Is Love's, which, injured, yields more sweets the while. 
 
 The heart of Love is with a thousand woes 
 Pierced, which secure indifference never knows. 
 
 The rose aye wears the silent thorn at heart, 
 And never yet might pain for Love depart. 
 
 Once o'er this painful earth a man did move, 
 The Man of griefs, because the Man of Love. 
 
 Hope, Faith, and Love, at God's high altar shine. 
 Lamp triple-branched, and fed with oil divine. 
 
 Two of these triple-lights shall once grow pale, 
 They burn without, but Love within the veil. 
 
22 Sacred Poems. 
 
 Nothing is true but Love, nor aught of worth ; 
 Love is the incense which doth sweeten earth. 
 
 O merchant at heaven's mart for heavenly ware, 
 Love is the only coin which passes there. 
 
 The wine of Love can be obtained of none, 
 Save Him who trod the winepress all alone. 
 
 * Archbishop Trench. 
 
 Eejoice OEtiermore, 
 
 VI. 
 
 215 UT how shall we be glad ? 
 We that are journeying through a vale of tears, 
 Encompassed with a thousand woes and fears, 
 
 How should we not be sad? 
 
 Angels, that ever stand 
 Within the presence-chamber, and there raise 
 The never-interrupted hymn of praise, 
 
 May welcome this command : 
 
 Or they whose strife is o'er, 
 Who all their weary length of life have trod, 
 As pillars now within the temple of God. 
 
 That shall go out no more. 
 
 But we who wander here, 
 We who are exiled in this gloomy place, 
 Still doomed to water earth's unthankful face 
 
 With many a bitter tear 
 
Sacred Poems. 23 
 
 Bid us lament and mourn, 
 Bid us that we go mourning all the day, 
 And we will find it easy to obey, 
 
 Of our best things forlorn ; 
 
 But not that we be glad ; 
 If it be true the mourners are the blest, 
 Oh, leave us in a world of sin, unrest, 
 
 And trouble, to be sad. 
 
 I spake, and thought to weep, 
 For sin and sorrow, suffering and crime, 
 That fill the world, all mine appointed time 
 
 A settled grief to keep. 
 
 When lo ! as day from night, 
 As day from out the womb of time forlorn, 
 So from that sorrow was that gladness born, 
 
 Even in mine own despite. 
 
 Yet was not that by this 
 Excluded, at the coming of that joy 
 Fled not that grief, nor did that grief destroy 
 
 The newly-risen bliss. 
 
 But side by side they flow, 
 Two fountains flowing from one smitten heart, 
 And oft-times scarcely to be known apart 
 
 That gladness and that woe ; 
 
 Two fountains from one source, 
 Or which from two such neighbouring sources run, 
 That aye for him who shall unseal the one, 
 
 The other flows perforce. 
 
 And both are sweet and calm, 
 Fair flowers upon the banks of either blow, 
 Both fertilize the soil, and where they flow. 
 
 Shed round them holy balm. 
 
 * Archbishop Trench. 
 
24 Sacred Poems. 
 
 Dap of 
 
 VII. 
 
 inevitable day, 
 When a voice to me shall say 
 * Thou must rise and come away ; 
 
 All thine other journeys past, 
 Gird thee and make ready fast 
 For thy longest and thy last.' 
 
 Day deep-hidden from our sight 
 
 In impenetrable night, 
 
 Who may guess of thee aright ? 
 
 Art thou distant, art thou near ? 
 Wilt thou seem more dark or clear ? 
 Day with more of hope or fear. 
 
 Wilt thou come, unseen before 
 Thou art standing at the door, 
 Saying, light and life are o'er ? 
 
 Or with such a gradual pace, 
 As shall leave me largest space 
 To regard thee face to face ? 
 
 Shall I lay my drooping head 
 On some loved lap, round my bed 
 Prayers be made and tears be shed ? 
 
 Or at distance from mine own, 
 Name and kin alike unknown, 
 Make my solitary moan ? 
 
 Will there yet be things to leave, 
 Hearts to which this heart must cleave, 
 From which parting it must grieve ? 
 
Sacred Poems. 25 
 
 Or shall life's best ties be o'er, 
 And all loved ones gone before 
 To that other happier shore ? 
 
 Shall I gently fall on sleep, 
 Death, like slumber, o'er me creep, 
 Like a slumber sweet and deep ? 
 
 Or the soul long strive in vain 
 To escape, with toil and pain, 
 From its half-divided chain ? 
 
 Little skills it where or how, 
 If thou comest then or now, 
 With a smooth or angry brow. 
 
 Come thou must, and we must die 
 Jesus, Saviour, stand Thou by, 
 When that last sleep seals our eye. 
 
 * Archbishop Trench. 
 
 fl> life, 
 
 LIFE, O death, O world, O time, 
 
 O grave, where all things flow, 
 'Tis yours to make our lot sublime 
 With your great weight of woe. 
 
 Though sharpest anguish hearts may wring, 
 
 Though bosoms torn may be, 
 Yet suffering is a holy thing ; 
 
 Without it what were we ? 
 
 * Archbishop Trench. 
 
26 Sacred Poems. 
 
 Cfte <K!ater0 of TBabglon. 
 
 IX. 
 
 "C'est la le mystere apres lequel soupirent toutes les ames exilees, qui 
 s'affligent sur les fleuves de Babylon, en se souvenant de Sion." Bossuet. 
 
 2[ dream of many waters. I beheld, 
 
 / ^ And lo ! a summer-night in Babylon, 
 
 And the great river, even Euphrates, wash'd 
 
 The land of Shinar, somewhat swifter now 
 
 When snows were melting on Armenian hills. 
 
 So by the hundred gates, lintel and post 
 
 All polish'd brass, the waves went washing on. 
 
 And on the flood the osier barges rode, 
 
 Shield-shaped, with earthen jars of palm-tree wine 
 
 Heap'd on the deck, and dark shapes stretch'd around. 
 
 League upon league, through tracts of wheat and corn, 
 
 That look'd on boundless plains like knightly hosts, 
 
 Far glimmering with pale and ghostly gold : 
 
 Through ranks of cedars, planted of the Lord 
 
 Round the lign-aloes, by the river's side, 
 
 Had they dropped down the flood. Then the tilth ceased, 
 
 And banks, like mountains, rose on either hand, 
 
 Worthy of wonderment, the work of kings ; 
 
 And long canals stretched lighted by the moon, 
 
 And by the company of Chaldean stars : 
 
 Till there came houses, bastion'd fortresses 
 
 With lion-gonfalons, and a maze of streets 
 
 And then the terraced pyramid of Bel, 
 
 And a vast palace, with its gardens hung 
 
 As by art magic in the spiced air 
 
 PencilPd, like purple islands fast asleep. 
 
 But evermore, by all the gates of brass ; 
 
 And where the barges floated down the stream : 
 
 And far along the sloping line of streets 
 
 Hung with a thousand cressets naphtha-lit : 
 
 And up among the garden-terraces ; 
 
 I heard the murmur of Euphrates flood. 
 
Sacred Poems. 27 
 
 So as I linger'd there, anon methought 
 The tide of life in that great city pent 
 Parted in twain, and took its separate way. 
 For one moved upward by the basalt wall, 
 A host of fierce-eyed men, with long black hair 
 Stream'd o'er white tunics, their dark faces wreath'd 
 With turbans white, in every hand a staff 
 Carven with lilies or with eagle-head. 
 And haughty girls in gilded cars swept on 
 To the Assyrian Aphrodite's fane, 
 With faces passion-flush'd or terror-pale, 
 Red and white roses, rich, but soon to fade. 
 High on the palace-terraces above 
 There walk'd a king* it made me fear to see 
 How like he was to those old sculptured kings, 
 Black-cuiTd, black-bearded, full of state and woe, 
 Who sit the world out on their chairs of stone, 
 Staring for ever on the arrow-heads, 
 Wherein their bloody chronicles are writ. 
 There too I saw grey-beard astrologers, 
 Who read the silver horologue of heaven ; 
 And them, who shape the purpose shadow'd forth 
 In visions of the head upon the bed ; 
 And priests, who give attendance at the shrine 
 Well-strewn, that hath no image of its god, 
 Or at that other where he sits eterne, 
 Statue and throne and pedestal of gold, 
 Grinning and glimmering through the frankincense. 
 
 From all there diverse went another way 
 Another concourse, gentler of regard. 
 And as a widow, when her son is dead, 
 Putteth her white lip down to the white shroud, 
 And communeth a little while with death, 
 So did the exiles commune with their Past. 
 Psalms did they murmur poesy of him, 
 Shepherd, King, Saint, and penitent, who wore 
 The golden grief that gave the golden song : 
 
 * Daniel iv. 29. 
 
28 Sacred Poems. 
 
 And later lamentations. For as when 
 A wandering man, beside an ocean shore 
 Belated, hears the waves upon the beach 
 Discoursing drearily, and night hangs black 
 On the black rocks, over the moaning sea ; 
 But suddenly there circles in the gloom 
 A bird's voice wailing, like a soul in pain, 
 Not dispossess'd of some immortal hope : 
 So Jeremiah wailed o'er Judah's path, 
 Still round and round that strange old alphabet 
 Weaving his long funereal chant of woe,* 
 Still singing sweetly of the seventy years ! 
 
 I saw the exiles seek the river side, 
 There where the willows grey grew in the midst 
 Of Babylon, and hang their harps thereon. 
 
 Thus evermore in ear of either throng 
 Sounded the voice of waters. It went up 
 Over the city, where the forests hang, 
 Sleepily parleying in the charmed light 
 Round alabaster stairs and curious flowers 
 From Media brought, and sunny steeps of Ind. 
 How different to each ! To these it swept 
 On with a din of Oriental war. 
 It sounded an alarm that wakened up 
 Far echoes from far rivers all night long, 
 Angering the dragon in his lotos-bed, 
 And bringing Persian kings unto the brink 
 Of the Choaspes with their silver jars. 
 Like a soothsayer it denounced a woe 
 On Tigris, telling the predestined time 
 When he should wail along a waste of bricks 
 Painted with pine-cones, and colossal bulls. 
 And like a divination it aroused 
 
 * In primis quatuor capitibus Lamentationum versus literis initia- 
 libus ordinem Alphabethi sequuntur, ita tamen, ut in capite tertio 
 tres semper versus continui ab eadem litera incipient. Ackermann. 
 Introd. in Libros Sacros. 
 
Sacred Poems. 29 
 
 As it were gods, ascending from the earth, 
 
 Disquieting old kings to bring them up, 
 
 Urukh, and Ilgi, Iva, and the rest, 
 
 Whose politic alliances, fierce wars, 
 
 And love, and hate have perished like themselves, 
 
 Forgotten in the city where they dwelt. 
 
 But to the other throng the river told 
 Things written in their great old Hebrew book. 
 It told how it had swept through Eden once, 
 A bright chord of the fourfold river-lyre. 
 And it had old-world songs of Abraham, 
 And him of Rehoboth who went to rule 
 Among the dark-eyed dukes on Seir's red rocks,* 
 And him of Pethor,f walking wrapped in thought. 
 Anon it seem'd to sing. " My waves flow past 
 A dungeon, and one bound with chains of brass, 
 A king, a crownless, childless, eyeless ghost ! \ 
 And on my surface lights and shadows play, 
 And moonlights quiver on the ripply lines, 
 The silver roll among my sighing reeds, 
 And the stars look into my silent depths, 
 But on the awful river of his thoughts, 
 Black as the waters of a mountain lake 
 What time the hills are powder'd white with snow, 
 Sunlight, and moon, and stars, are not at all : 
 Dark, dark, all draped with shadows of his life." 
 
 Then came another tale a legend wild 
 How the Ten Tribes, the banish'd of the Lord 
 Took counsel with themselves, that they would leave 
 The multitude of heathens, and fare forth 
 
 * These are their dukes . . and these are the kings that reigned 
 in the land of Edom . . Saul of Rehoboth by the river reigned. 
 Gen. xxxvi. 19, 31, 37. 
 
 t Numbers xxii. 5. 
 
 + Zedekiah. See 2 Kings, xxv. 7. 
 
 See the legend of the journey of the Ten Tribes across the Euphrates 
 to Arsareth in 2 Esdras. 
 
30 Sacred Poems. 
 
 To a far country, where there never came 
 
 Oarsman or sail. A penitential host, 
 
 They entered the Euphrates by the ford. 
 
 And often hath the moon at midnight hung 
 
 Pillars of luminous silver o'er the wave, 
 
 But not a pillar half so broad and bright 
 
 As that which steered them on, while the Most High 
 
 Held still the flood. And aye their way they took 
 
 Twice nine long months, until they reach'd the land 
 
 Arsareth. There the mountains gird them in, 
 
 And o'er the gleaming granite pass white clouds, 
 
 That sail from awful waterfalls, and catch, 
 
 And tear their silver fleeces on the pines. 
 
 And never hunter scaled those granite peaks, 
 
 And never wandering man hath heard the roar 
 
 Of cataracts soften'd through those folds of fir, 
 
 But a great temple hangs upon the hills, 
 
 And ever and anon rolls through its gates 
 
 A mighty music washing through the pines, 
 
 And silver. trumps still snarl at the new moon ; 
 
 And all their life is sacrament and psalm, 
 
 Vesper or festival, and holy deed. 
 
 There do they dwell until the latter time, 
 
 When God Most High shall stay the springs again. 
 
 The waters changed their meaning. There came down 
 Some of the others to Euphrates' brink, 
 And much they question'd why those harps hung there, 
 Saying " Come, sing us one of Sion's songs !" 
 How shall they sing God's song in the strange land ? 
 For it is native of the Temple, laid 
 Like a white flower on Moriah's breast ; 
 And it is not for Asia's sealike plain, 
 But for the shadows of the purple hills : 
 Not for the broad and even-pulsing stream, 
 But for the land where Jordan passioneth 
 His poetry of waterfalls, night and day 
 Anger'd by cataracts, lulled by nightingales, 
 Crown'd with white foam, and triumphing for ever, 
 
Sacred Poems. 31 
 
 That is to the Euphrates, as a saint 
 Full of sweet yearnings and of tears divine, 
 Is to some cold and passionless idol god 
 Imprison'd in his rigid marble lines. 
 
 Next, as from a far country there came one 
 Slow was his gait, his garment travel-stain'd,* 
 And in his hand, methought, he held a scroll, 
 Written from right to left, Semitic-wise. 
 Then one said to him, " Wherefore art thou come ?" 
 And he " I come from him of Anathoth." 
 Whereat, he bound a stone upon the scroll, 
 And flung it far away into the flood, 
 When suddenly a trumpet blast waxed loud, 
 Against Chaldea rousing Ararat, 
 And Ashkenaz and Minni, kingdoms old. 
 Yea, instantaneously a mighty voice 
 Of Heav'n, and earth, and all that is therein, 
 Sang over Babylon. And as far north 
 The ice-bound mariner looks up, and lo ! 
 The sky is spann'd with the auroral arch, 
 And the Heav'n, full of glory, blossometh 
 With light unspeakable so now, methought, 
 The sky grew radiant up above Jny head 
 World upon world. And then I heard a song, 
 Angels, archangels, and the company 
 Of Heaven, chanting unto golden harps 
 With exultation, " Babylon the Great 
 Is fallen, fallen ;" and from earth below 
 Rose echo, " fallen, fallen" back again. 
 And then I thought that I could hear far off 
 The cedars and the firs of Lebanon,! 
 With a wind rustling all their odorous robes, 
 That shaped itself in long low syllables, 
 As if a happy thought went sighing through 
 Their dark-green halls and sombre colonnades, 
 Saying, " No feller comes against us now, 
 
 * Seraiah cf. Jeremiah li. 59. t Isaiah xiv. 
 
32 Sacred Poems. 
 
 Since they have laid thee low, O Babylon !" 
 And the great river sobb'd, " O Babylon S" 
 I beheld gods, and demigods, and kings, 
 Like shadows upon unsubstantial thrones. 
 I saw the crowns upon their wither'd brows, 
 Like the thin circlet of the waning moon 
 Over a thin white cloud. Ranged were they all, 
 A royal consistory, row on row, 
 
 Sleeping their sleep. But now their ranks were stirred, 
 As the wan leaves, shrunken from red to white, 
 The chestnuts' ashes, or the beeches' fire 
 Are stirr'd in heaps, and a shrill murmuring went 
 Among them, like a wailing of the birds. 
 And they look'd narrowly on one that came 
 Into their company, and laughed, and said, 
 " How art thou fallen, O ! thou Morning star ! 
 For we are kings at least, and take our fill 
 Of rest, each one in glory on his bed, 
 Strewn with sweet odours, divers kinds of spice. 
 But thou art as a wanderer in our land, 
 Thy carcase, trodden under foot of men 
 Disrobed, dissceptred, dropp'd with blood, discrown'd !' 
 Then Heav'n and the abyss were mute once more, 
 And the curse fell upon broad walls, high gates, 
 Utterly broken, burned in the fire : 
 And the curse fell on garden-terraces, 
 Faded, all faded, like a golden cloud, 
 And tumbled, like a cliff in heaps of stones ; 
 And the curse fell upon Euphrates last, 
 Fountain and flood, and all his sea dried up. 
 
 Yet other shapes and sounds came to me still. 
 I saw a fire dark-red in the fierce sky, 
 Three shadowy figures flitting to and fro ; 
 Far off I heard their Beneditite* 
 I saw a host, across the river's bed, 
 Trample right onward to a palace-gate, 
 Whence from a great feast fled a thousand lords, 
 
 * The Song of the Three Children. 
 
Sacred Poems. 33 
 
 And dark sultanas, dress'd in white symars. 
 
 And in the hall I saw a blaze of light 
 
 Round gold and silver cups of strange device, 
 
 And one mysterious figure, scarlet-rob'd,* 
 
 Waiting unmov'd, and on the dias high 
 
 A king, the wine still red on his white lips. 
 
 And I beheld a barge upon the wave, 
 
 Lo ! at its helm there was a godlike form, 
 
 A glittering tiar above his kausia.f 
 
 Sitting the centre of a light of gems, 
 
 Shadow'd by silk-embroider'd sails, he steered 
 
 His pinnace to the dyke Pallakopas, 
 
 Keeping his royal court and state on deck, 
 
 As he sailed down to see the pictured graves 
 
 Of the old kings, that sleep world without end, 
 
 Where shadows are the only moving things. 
 
 And one kept court upon the deck as well, 
 
 White-lipp'd, and grim, and stern, and that was Death 
 
 And then a stately chamber, muffled round 
 
 With golden curtains, rose beside the stream : 
 
 And, his face cover'd with a silken veil, 
 
 Walked the Resch-GluthaJ among aged men, 
 
 Thin faces, pinch'd-up foreheads, narrow hearts, 
 
 Whereon the thoughts of God's eternal book 
 
 Are stamp'd in petty legendary lore, 
 
 As the great waves with all their noble beat 
 
 Carve out those feather'd lines along the strand. 
 
 And last I thought Euphrates was dried up, 
 
 And o'er his bed the kings of the Orient, 
 
 Surging with war's full stream of clanging gold,|| 
 
 March'd to the battle of Almighty God. IF 
 
 * Daniel v. 29. 
 
 t See the account of Alexander's death in Grote's History of Greece, 
 vol. xii. 
 
 $ The Prince of the Captivity. 
 
 The Gemara, Mischna, and Talmud grew up among the Babylonian 
 Jews. 
 
 II TroAAu) pCVfJLCLTi 
 
 Xpvarov Karats. SOPH. Antig. 130. 
 IF Apoc. xvi, 13. 1 6. 
 C 
 
34 Sacred Poems. 
 
 But on before me swept the moonlit stream, 
 That had entranced me with his memories 
 A thousand battles, and one burst of psalms, 
 Rolling his waters to the Indian sea 
 Beyond Balsara and Elana far, 
 Nigh to two thousand miles from Ararat. 
 And his full music took a finer tone, 
 And sang me something of a " gentler stream"* 
 That rolls for ever to another shore, 
 Whereof our God Himself is the sole sea, 
 And Christ's dear love the pulsing of the tide, 
 And His sweet Spirit is the breathing wind. 
 Something it chanted too of exiled men 
 On the sad bank of that strange river Life, 
 Hanging the harp of their deep heart-desires 
 To rest upon the willow of the Cross, 
 And longing for the everlasting hills, 
 Mount Sion and Jerusalem of God. 
 And then I thought I knelt, and kneeling heard 
 Nothing save only the long wash of waves, 
 And one sweet psalm that sobbed for evermore. 
 
 * Bishop Alexander. 
 
 X. 
 
 WONDERFUL ! round whose birth-hour 
 
 Prophetic song, miraculous power, 
 Cluster and burn, like star and flower. 
 
 Those marvellous rays that at Thy will, 
 From the closed Heaven which is so chill, 
 So passionless, streamed round Thee still, 
 
 * "A gentler stream with gladness still 
 
 The city of our God shall fill." Psalm xliv., N.V. 
 
Sacred Poems. 35 
 
 Are but as broken gleams that start, 
 
 O Light of Lights, from Thy deep heart, 
 
 Thyself, Thyself, the Wonder art ! 
 
 O Counsellor ! four thousand years, 
 One question tremulous with tears, 
 One awful question vexed our peers. 
 
 They asked the vault, but no one spoke ; 
 They asked the depth, no answer woke ; 
 They asked their hearts, that only broke. 
 
 They looked, and sometimes on the height 
 
 Far off they saw a haze of white, 
 
 That was a storm, but looked like light. 
 
 The secret of the years is read, 
 The enigma of the quick and dead 
 By the Child voice interpreted. 
 
 O everlasting Father, God ! 
 
 Sun after sun went down, and trod 
 
 Race after race the green earth's sod, 
 
 Till generations seem'd to be 
 But dead waves of an endless sea, 
 But dead leaves from a deathless tree. 
 
 But Thou hast come, and now we know 
 Each wave hath an eternal flow, 
 Each leaf a lifetime after snow. 
 
 O Prince of Peace ! crown'd yet discrown'd, 
 They say no war nor battle's sound 
 Was heard the tired world around ; 
 
 C 2 
 
36 Sacred Poems. 
 
 They say the hour that Thou didst come, 
 The trumpet's voice was stricken dumb, 
 And no one beat the battle-drum. 
 
 Yea, still as life to them that mark 
 Its poor adventure, seems a bark 
 Whose track is pale, whose sail is dark : 
 
 Thou, who art Wonderful, dost fling 
 One ray, till like a sea-bird's wing 
 The canvas is a snowy thing, 
 
 Till the dark boat is turn'd to gold, 
 The sunlit-silver'd ocean roll'd 
 With anthems that are new and old, 
 
 With noble path of luminous ray 
 From the boat slanting all the way 
 To the island of undying day. 
 
 And still as clouding questions swarm 
 Around our hearts, and dimly form 
 Their problems of the mist and storm : 
 
 And still as ages fleet, but fraught 
 With syllables, whereby is wrought 
 The fulness of the Eternal thought ; 
 
 And when not yet in God's sunshine, 
 The smoke drifts from the embattled line 
 Of warring hearts that would be Thine ; 
 
 We bid our doubts and passions cease, 
 Our restless fears be still' d with these 
 Counsellor, Father, Prince of Peace ! 
 
 * Bishop Alexander. 
 
Sacred Poems. 37 
 
 Cf)e Deatf) of afiel 
 
 XI. 
 
 In youthful dignity and lovely grace, 
 
 With heaven itself reflected on his face, 
 
 In purity and innocence array'd, 
 
 The perfect work of God was Abel made. 
 
 To him the fleecy charge his sire consigned : 
 
 An angel's figure with an angel's mind, 
 
 In him his father every blessing viewed, 
 
 And thought the joys of Paradise renew'd. 
 
 But stern and gloomy was the soul of Cain ; 
 
 A brother's virtue was the source of pain ; 
 
 Malice and hate their secret wounds impart, 
 
 And envy's vulture gnaws upon his heart : 
 
 With discontented hand he turned the soil, 
 
 And inly grieving, murmured o'er his toil. 
 
 Each with his offering to the Almighty came, 
 
 Their altars raised, and fed the sacred flame. 
 
 Scarce could the pitying Abel bear to bind 
 
 A lamb, the picture of his Master's mind : 
 
 Which to the pile with tender hands he drew, 
 
 And wept, as he the bleating victim slew. 
 
 Around, with fond regard the zephyr played, 
 
 Nor dared disturb the oblation Abel made. 
 
 The gracious flames accepted upward flew, 
 
 The Lord received them for his heart was true. 
 
 His first-reap'd fruits indignant Cain prepares, 
 
 But vain his sacrifice, and vain his prayers, 
 
 For all were hollow : God and nature frowned, 
 
 The wind dispersed them, and the Lord disowned. 
 
 He looks behind what flames around him rise ? 
 
 " O hell ! 'tis Abel's, Abel's sacrifice ! 
 
 " Curst, hated sight ! another look would tear 
 
 " My soul with rage, would plunge me in despair ! 
 
 " Still must each wish that Abel breathes be heard ; 
 
 " Still must I see his suit to mine preferr'd ! 
 
 " Still must this darling of creation share 
 
 " His parents' dearest love, his Maker's care ; 
 
38 Sacred Poems. 
 
 " But Cain is doomed his sullen hate to vent 
 
 " Is doomed his woes in silence to lament : 
 
 " Why should the name of Abel sound more dear, 
 
 " More sweet than Cain's unto my father's ear? 
 
 " Each look, that once on me with pleasure glowed, 
 
 " Each kiss, each smile, on Abel is bestowed. 
 
 " He loves me, views me with sincere delight ; 
 
 " Yet, yet I hate him, yet I loathe his sight ! 
 
 " But why detest him ? why do I return 
 
 " Hate for his love, his warm affection spurn ? 
 
 " Ah ! vain each effort, vain persuasion's art, 
 
 " While rancour's sting is festering in my heart ! " 
 
 At this ill-fated moment, when his rage 
 
 Nor love could bind, nor reason could assuage, 
 
 Young Abel came; he marked his sullen woe, 
 
 Nor in the brother could discern the foe. 
 
 As down his cheeks the generous sorrow ran, 
 
 He gazed with fondness, and at length began : 
 
 " Why lowers that storm beneath thy clouded eye ? 
 
 " Why wouldst thou thus thy Abel's presence fly ? 
 
 " Turn thee, my brother ! view me laid thus low, 
 
 " And smooth the threatening terrors of thy brow. 
 
 " Have I offended ? Is my fault so great, 
 
 " That truth and friendship cannot change thy hate ? 
 
 " Then tell me, Cain, O tell me all thy care ; 
 
 " O cease thy grief, or let thy Abel share ! " 
 
 No tears prevail : his passions stronger rise ; 
 
 Increasing fury flashes from his eyes ! 
 
 At once each fiend around his heartstrings twines, 
 
 At once all hell within his soul combines. 
 
 " Ah, serpent ! " At the words he fiercely sprung, 
 
 Caught the accursed weapon, brandished, swung, 
 
 And smote ! the stroke descended on his brow ; 
 
 The suppliant victim sunk beneath the blow : 
 
 The streaming blood distained his locks with gore 
 
 Those beauteous tresses, that were gold before : 
 
 Nor could his lips a deep-drawn sigh restrain, 
 
 Not for himself he sighed he sighed for Cain : 
 
 His dying eyes a look of pity cast, 
 
 And beamed forgiveness, ere they closed their last. 
 
Sacred Poems. 39 
 
 The murderer viewed him with a vacant stare, 
 Each thought was anguish, and each look despair. 
 " Abel, awake, arise ! " he trembling cried ; 
 " Abel, my brother ! " but no voice replied. 
 At every call more madly wild he grew, 
 Paler than he, whom late in rage he slew. 
 In frightful silence o'er the corse he stood, 
 And chain'd in terror, wondered at the blood. 
 " Awake ! yet oh ! no voice, no smile, no breath ! 
 " O God, support me ! O should this be death ! 
 " O thought most dreadful ! how my blood congeals ! 
 " How every vein increasing horror feels ! 
 " How faint his visage, and how droops his head ! 
 " O God, he's gone ! and I have done the deed ! " 
 Pierc'd with the thought, the fatal spot he flies, 
 And, plunged in darkness, seeks a vain disguise. 
 Eve, hapless Eve ! 'twas thine these woes to see, 
 To weep thy own, thy children's misery ! 
 She, all unconscious, with her husband strayed 
 To meet her sons beneath their favourite shade : 
 To them the choicest fruits of all her store, 
 Delightful task ! a pleasing load she bore. 
 While with maternal love she looked around 
 Lo ! Abel, breathless, weltering on the ground ! 
 She shrieked his name 'twas all that she could say, 
 Then sunk, and lifeless as her Abel lay. 
 Not long the trance could all her senses seal, 
 She woke too soon returning woe to feel. 
 Those lips that once gave rapture to her breast, 
 Now cold in death the afflicted mother pressed. 
 Fix'd in the silent agony of woe, 
 The father stood, nor comfort could bestow. 
 Weep, wretched father ! hopeless mother, weep ! 
 A long, long slumber Abel 's doomed to sleep ! 
 Wrapt in the tangling horrors of the wood, 
 The murderer sought to fly himself and God. 
 Night closed her welcome shades around his head, 
 But angry conscience lashed him as he fled. 
 " Here stretch thy limbs, thou wretch ! O may this 
 blast 
 
4 Sacred Poems. 
 
 " Bear death, and may this moment be thy last ! 
 
 " May blackest night eternal hold her reign ; 
 
 " And may the sun forget to light the plain ! 
 
 " Ye shades surround me ! darkness hide my sin ! 
 
 " Tis dark without, but darker still within. 
 
 " O Abel ! O my brother ! could not all 
 
 " Thy love for me preserve thee from thy fall ! 
 
 " Why did not Heaven avert that deadly blow, 
 
 " That dreadful, hated wound, that laid thee low ! 
 
 " Oh ! I'm in hell ! each breath, each blast alarms, 
 
 " And every maddening demon is in arms : 
 
 " The voice of God, the curse of Heaven I hear ; 
 
 " The name of murder'd Abel strikes my ear, 
 
 " Rolls in the thunder, rustles in the trees, 
 
 " And Abel ! Abel ! murmurs in the breeze. 
 
 " Still fancy scares me with his dying groan, 
 
 " And clothes each scene in horrors not its own. 
 
 " Curst be that day, the harbinger of woes, 
 
 " When first my mother felt a mother's throes : 
 
 " When sweetly smiling on my infant face, 
 
 " She blessed the firstling of a future race. 
 
 " O Death ! thou hidden, thou mysterious bane ! 
 
 " Can all thy terrors equal living pain ? 
 
 " Yet still there lies a world beyond the grave, 
 
 " From whence no death, no subterfuge can save. 
 
 " Thou, God of Vengeance ! these my sufferings see,- 
 
 " To all the God of Mercy, but to me ! 
 
 " O soothe the tortures of my guilty state, 
 
 " Great is Thy vengeance, but Thy mercy great, 
 
 " My brother ! thou canst see how deep I grieve ; 
 
 " Look down, thou injured angel, and forgive ! 
 
 " Far hence a wretched fugitive, I roam, 
 
 " The earth my bed, the wilderness my home. 
 
 " Far hence I stray from these delightful seats, 
 
 " To solitary tracts and drear retreats. 
 
 " Yet ah ! the very beasts will shun my sight, 
 
 " Will fly my bloody footsteps with affright. 
 
 " No brother they, no faithful friend have slain, 
 
 " Detested only for that crime is Cain. 
 
 " Had I but lulled each fury of my soul, 
 
Sacred Poems. 41 
 
 " Had held each rebel passion in control, 
 
 " To nature and to God had faithful proved, 
 
 " And loved a brother as a brother loved, 
 
 " Then had I sunk into a grave of rest, 
 
 " And Cain had breathed his last on Abel's breast ! " 
 
 Rev. Charles Wolfe. 
 
 rai0ing; 
 
 XII. 
 
 AGILENT and sad, deep gazing on the clay, 
 Where Lazarus breathless, cold, and lifeless lay, 
 The Saviour stood ; he dropped a heavenly tear, 
 The dew of pity from a soul sincere : 
 He heaved a groan ! though large his cup of woe, 
 Yet still for others' grief his sorrows flow ; 
 He knew what pains must pierce a sister's heart, 
 When death had sped his sharpest, deadliest dart, 
 And seized a brother's life. Around they stand, 
 Sisters and friends, a weeping, mournful band : 
 His prayer he raises to the blest abode, 
 And mercy bears it to the throne of God. 
 ' Lord ! Thou hast always made Thy Son Thy care, 
 ' Ne'er has my soul in vain preferred its prayer ; 
 * Hear now, O Father ! this Thy flock relieve, 
 ' Dry Thou their tears, and teach them to believe 
 ' Thy power the sinking wretch from death can save, 
 ' And burst the iron fetters of the grave : 
 ' Awake ! arise !" the healing words He spoke, 
 And death's deep slumbers in a moment broke : 
 Fate hears astonish'd, trembles at the word, 
 And nature yields, o'ercome by nature's Lord. 
 Light peeps with glimmering rays into his eyes ; 
 With lingering paces misty darkness flies ; 
 The pulse slow vibrates through the languid frame, 
 The frozen blood renews the vital flame ; 
 His body soon its wonted strength regains, 
 
42 Sacred Poems. 
 
 And life, returning, rushes to his veins. 
 
 They look ! they start ! they look ! 'tis he, 'tis he ! 
 
 They see him, and yet scarce believe they see ! 
 
 On Him on Him they turn their thankful eyes, 
 
 From whom such wondrous benefits arise : 
 
 On Him they look, who, God and Man combined, 
 
 Joined mortal feelings with a heavenly mind : 
 
 On him their warm collected blessings poured ; 
 
 As Man, they loved him and as God, adored. 
 
 Rev. Charles Wolfe. 
 
 3[ofm 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Y rush the wild thousands 
 From Salem's proud towers ? 
 Why rush the wild thousands 
 
 From Jericho's bowers ? 
 From the vine-cover'd valley, 
 
 The olive-hill's side, 
 From the cot, from the palace, 
 
 Still rushes the tide ! 
 The* priest and the warrior, 
 
 The lord and the slave ; 
 
 Still onward they pour 
 
 To the willow-wreath'd shore, 
 Where the wilderness glitters 
 
 With Jordan's bright wave. 
 
 What seek they ? A prince, 
 
 In his tunic of gold ! 
 What seek they ? A chief 
 
 Like their warriors of old. 
 When the Maccabee scythe 
 
 Mowed the Syrian's mailed hordes, 
 
Sacred Poems. 43 
 
 And Arabia was tame 
 
 At the blaze of their swords. 
 But the Heaven-doom'd Roman 
 
 Has levelled the throne ; 
 
 And like dust on the gale, 
 
 And like rust on the mail, 
 The old lion-banner 
 
 Is shattered and gone. 
 
 Hark ! the shouts of the host 
 
 As they sweep o'er the plain ; 
 See their gesture of triumph, 
 
 Their glance of disdain. 
 "All hail to the Prophet ! 
 
 Four hundred long years 
 Have scourged us with scorpions, 
 
 Have steeped us in tears. 
 But, the kingdom is coming, 
 
 Its Herald has come. 
 
 Now the Roman shall feel 
 
 The tramp of our heel, 
 And the gods of the Gentile 
 
 Shall plunge in the tomb." 
 
 'Tis the Prophet of prophets, 
 
 For ages foretold, 
 Of the race that the thunders 
 
 O'er Palestine rolled. 
 With a voice that now saves, 
 
 And a voice that now stings, 
 Rebuker of people, 
 
 Rebuker of kings. 
 His eye like the flash, 
 
 As it darts from the cloud. 
 
 The camel's-hair fold 
 
 Round his limbs' giant mould, 
 And a forehead, to all but Jehovah 
 unbow'd. 
 
44 Sacred Poems. 
 
 He speaks all are hushed. 
 
 On his lip burns the coal ; 
 The flame from the altar, 
 
 The voice of the soul ! 
 " Ho ! leaders of Israel, 
 
 Blind guides of the blind, 
 With madness before you, 
 
 And vengeance behind ; 
 Repent for the time 
 
 Of Messiah is nigh ; 
 
 For the firebrand shall glow 
 
 O'er your city of woe, 
 And the axe at the root 
 
 Of your grandeur shall lie. 
 
 " Why comes the proud Pharisee, 
 
 Scorn in his eye ? 
 Why comes the proud Sadducee, 
 
 Looking a lie? 
 Ye sons of the hypocrites, 
 
 Howl in despair. 
 Ye kindred of Spoil, 
 
 In its doom ye shall share. 
 For the harvest is gathered, 
 
 The fan in the hand, 
 
 Ye bosoms of stone, 
 
 Ye infidels, groan ; 
 In the day of His vengeance, 
 
 What mortal shall stand ? 
 
 "He stoops from His throne, 
 
 Yet is mighty to save ; 
 The prisoner of Death, 
 
 Yet the Lord of the Grave ! 
 The King of all Kings 
 
 As a slave shall expire, 
 But His words shall be Spirit, 
 
 His Baptism be fire. 
 
Sacred Poems. 45 
 
 Then Judah shall perish 
 
 In famine and gore, 
 
 Till the trumpet shall sound, 
 
 And the dead be unbound, 
 And MESSIAH be Monarch, 
 
 And Time be no more !" 
 
 Rev. George Croly, LL.D. 
 
 TBalaft ano TBalaam. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 PON the hill the Prophet stood, 
 King Balak, in the rocky vale ; 
 Around him, like a fiery flood, 
 
 Flashed to the sun his men of mail. 
 
 'Twas Morn 'twas Noon the Sacrifice 
 Still rolled its sheeted flame to Heaven, 
 
 Still on the Prophet turned their eyes ; 
 Nor yet the fearful CURSE was given. 
 
 Twas Eve the flame was feeble now, 
 Was dried the victim's burning blood. 
 
 The sun was sinking broad and low. 
 King Balak by the Prophet stood. 
 
 " Now, curse, or die ! " The echoing roar 
 Around him. like a tempest came ; 
 
 Again the altar streamed with gore, 
 And flushed again the sky with flame. 
 
 The Prophet was in prayer ; he rose, 
 His mantle from his face was flung ; 
 
 He listened, where the mighty foes 
 
 To Heaven their evening anthem sung. 
 
46 Sacred Poems. 
 
 He saw their camp, like sunset clouds, 
 Mixed with the Desert's distant blue ; 
 
 Saw on the plain their marshalled crowds, 
 Heard the high strain their trumpets blew. 
 
 " Young lion of the Desert sand," 
 Burst from his lip the Prophet-cry, 
 
 " What strength before thy strength shall stand ? 
 What hunter meet thee, but to fly? 
 
 " Come, Heaven-crowned Lord of Palestine, 
 Lord of her plain, her mountain-throne ; 
 
 Lord of her olive and her vine : 
 
 Come, King of Nations, claim Thine own." 
 
 " Be Israel cursed !" was in his soul, 
 But on his lip the wild words died ; 
 
 He paused, till night on Israel stole : 
 Still was the fearful curse untried. 
 
 Now wilder on his startled ear, 
 
 From Moab's hills and valleys dim, 
 
 Rose the fierce clash of shield and spear, 
 Rose the mad yells of Baalim. 
 
 " How shall I curse whom God hath blest ? 
 
 With whom He dwells, with whom shall dwell ?" 
 He clasped his pale hands on his breast ; 
 
 " Then be thou blest, O Israel !" 
 
 A whirlwind from the Desert rushed, 
 Deep thunders echoed round the hill, 
 
 King, Prophet, multitude were hushed ! 
 The thunders sank, the blast was still. 
 
Sacred Poems. 47 
 
 Broad on the East, a newborn Star, 
 On cloud, vale, desert, poured its blaze. 
 
 The Prophet knew the SIGN afar, 
 And on it fixed his shuddering gaze. 
 
 " I shall behold HIM, but not now ; 
 
 I shall behold HIM, but not nigh. 
 He comes, beneath the Cross to bow, 
 
 To toil, to triumph, and to die. 
 
 " All power is in His hand ; the World 
 
 Is dust beneath His trampling heel. 
 The thunder from His lips is hurled, 
 
 The heavens beneath His presence reel. 
 
 "He comes, a stranger to His own ; 
 
 With the wild bird and fox He lies. 
 The King, who makes the stars His throne, 
 
 A wanderer lives, an outcast dies ! 
 
 " Lost Israel ! on thy diadem 
 
 What blood shall for His blood be poured ? 
 Torn from the earth thy royal stem 
 
 Victim of famine, chain, and sword." 
 
 The Prophet paused, in awe ; the STAR 
 Rose broader on the boundless plain, 
 
 Flashing on Balak's marshalled war, 
 On mighty Israel's farthest vane. 
 
 And sweet and solemn echoes flowed 
 From harps of more than mortals given. 
 
 Till in the central cope it glowed, 
 
 Then vanished in the heights of Heaven ! 
 
 Rev. George Croly, LL.D. 
 
48 Sacred Poems. 
 
 XV. 
 
 England's gilded halls of state 
 I crossed the Western Minster's gate, 
 And, 'mid the tombs of England's dead, 
 I heard the Holy Scriptures read. 
 
 The walls around and pillar'd piers 
 Had stood well-nigh seven hundred years ; 
 The words the priest gave forth had stood 
 Since Christ, and since before the Flood. 
 
 A thousand hearts around partook 
 
 The comfort of the Holy Book ; 
 
 While thousand suppliant hands were spread 
 
 In lifted stone above my head. 
 
 In dust decay'd the hands are gone 
 
 That fed and set the builders on ; 
 
 In heedless dust the fingers lie 
 
 That hewed and heaved the stones on high ; 
 
 And back to earth and air resolv'd 
 
 The brain that planned and poised the vault 
 
 But undecay'd, erect, and fair, 
 
 To heaven ascends the builded Prayer, 
 
 With majesty of strength and size, 
 With glory of harmonious dyes, 
 With holy airs of heavenward thought 
 From floor to roof divinely fraught. 
 
 Fall down, ye bars ! enlarge, my soul ! 
 To heart's content take in the whole ; 
 And, spurning pride's injurious thrall, 
 With loyal love embrace them all ! 
 
Sacred Poems. 49 
 
 Yet hold not lightly home ; nor yet 
 The graves on Dunagore forget ; 
 Nor grudge the stone-gilt stall to change 
 For humble bench of Gorman's Grange. 
 
 The self-same Word bestows its cheer 
 On simple creatures there as here ; 
 And thence, as hence, poor souls do rise 
 In social flight to common skies. 
 
 For in the Presence vast and good, 
 That bends o'er all our livelihood, 
 With humankind in heavenly cure, 
 We all are weak, we all are poor. 
 
 His poor, be sure, shall never want 
 For service meet and seemly chant, 
 And for the Gospel's joyful sound 
 A fitting place shall still be found ; 
 
 Whether the organ's solemn tones 
 Thrill through the dust of warriors' bones, 
 Or voices of the village choir 
 From swallow-haunted eaves aspire; 
 
 Or, sped with healing on its wings, 
 The Word solicit ears of kings, 
 Or stir the souls, in moorland glen, 
 Of kingless covenanted men. 
 
 Enough for thee, indulgent Lord, 
 The willing ear to hear Thy Word, 
 The rising of the burthen'd breast 
 And thou suppliest all the rest. 
 
 Or haply, as they held who lie 
 Where Six-mile-water murmurs by, 
 Thine, too, the sigh, and Thine the call, 
 Thou, liberal Lord, providing all. 
 
 * Samuel Ferguson. 
 
50 Sacred Poems. 
 
 Cfje J>pmn of t&e jFis&ermen, 
 
 XVI. 
 
 To God give foremost praises, 
 
 Who, 'neath the rolling tides, 
 In ocean's secret places, 
 
 Our daily bread provides ; 
 Who in His pasture grazes 
 
 The flat fish and the round, 
 And makes the herring 'maces' 
 
 In shoaling heaps abound. 
 
 Who, in the hour of trial, 
 
 When, down the rattling steep 
 The tempest's wrathful vial 
 
 Is poured upon the deep, 
 Gives courage, calm .and steady, 
 
 Through every form of fear, 
 And makes our fingers ready 
 
 To hand, and reef, and steer. 
 
 Who, when through drift and darkness 
 
 The reeling hooker flies, 
 And, rocks in ridgy starkness, 
 
 Athwart our bows arise, 
 Prompt to the helm's commanding, 
 
 Brings round the swerving tree, 
 Till, into harbour standing, 
 
 We anchor safe and free. 
 
 And, great and small sufficing, 
 
 In Nature's equal law, 
 That rules the sun's uprising. 
 
 And makes the mainsail draw, 
 Brings round His erring creatures 
 
 To seek salvation's ways, 
 By laws surpassing Nature's 
 
 To God give foremost praise. 
 
 * Samuel Ferguson. 
 
Sacred Poems. 51 
 
 Cftree 
 
 XVII. 
 
 in, Sweet Thought, come in ; 
 Why linger at the door ? 
 Is it because a shape of sin 
 
 Denied the place before ? 
 'Twas but a moment there ; 
 
 I chased it soon away -, 
 Behold, my breast is clear and bare 
 
 Come in, Sweet Thought, and stay. 
 The Sweet Thought said me " No ; 
 
 " I love not such a room, 
 " Where uncouth inmates come and go, 
 
 "And back, unbidden, come: 
 " I rather make my cell 
 
 " From ill resort secure, 
 " Where love and lovely fancies dwell 
 
 " In bosoms virgin-pure." 
 
 Oh, Pure Thought, then I said, 
 
 Come thou, and bring with thee 
 This dainty Sweetness, fancy-bred, 
 
 That flouts my house and me. 
 No peevish pride hast thou, 
 
 Nor turnest glance of scorn 
 On aught the laws of life allow 
 
 In man of woman born. 
 Said he, " No place for us 
 
 " Is here : and, be it known, 
 " You dwell where ways are perilous 
 
 " For them that walk alone. 
 " There needs the surer road, 
 
 " The fresher-sprinkl'd floor, 
 " Else are we not for your abode" 
 
 And turned him from my door. 
 
 D 2 
 
52 Sacred Poems. 
 
 Then, in my utmost need, 
 
 Oh, Holy Thought, I cried, 
 Come thou, that cleansest will and deed, 
 
 And in my breast abide. 
 " Yea, sinner, that will I, 
 
 " And presently begin ;" 
 And ere the heart had heav'd its sigh, 
 
 The Guest Divine came in. 
 As in the pest-house ward 
 
 The prompt Physician stands, 
 As in the leagur'd castle yard 
 
 The warden with his bands, 
 He stood, and said, " My task 
 
 " Is here, and here my home ; 
 " And here am I, who only ask 
 
 " That I be asked to come." 
 
 See how in formless flight 
 
 The ranks of darkness run, 
 Exhale and perish in the light 
 
 Stream'd from the risen sun ; 
 How, but a drop infuse 
 
 Within the turbid bowl, 
 Of some elixir's virtuous juice, 
 
 It straight makes clear the whole; 
 So from before His face 
 
 The fainting phantoms went, 
 And, in a clear and sunny place, 
 
 My soul sat down content ; 
 For mark and understand 
 
 My ailment and my cure 
 Love came and brought me, in his hand, 
 
 The Sweet Thought and the Pure. 
 
 * Samuel Ferguson. 
 
Sacred Poems. 53 
 
 Cfjree 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 ^TYI^Y breast was as a briary brake 
 
 ^T^ I lacked the rake and shears to trim ; 
 
 Or like a deep, weed-tangl'd lake, 
 
 Where man can neither wade nor swim : 
 So full of various discontent 
 
 At things I had not height to scan, 
 
 Nor breadth nor depth to comprehend, 
 It seemed as though creation's end 
 
 Were but enigma, and God's plan 
 One knotted hard entanglement. 
 
 Oh ! glad the morning light we greet, 
 
 That shows the pathway newly found ; 
 And grateful to the oaring feet 
 
 The touch, at last, of solid ground. 
 A breath : beheld in clearer air, 
 
 The path surmounts the mountain sides ; 
 A touch : the knots asunder fall, 
 And from the smooth uncoiling ball, 
 
 With easy play the shuttle glides. 
 To weave the robe the righteous wear. 
 
 Ah me ! for such a robe unfit, 
 
 How shall I let my face be shown, 
 Or venture at the feet to sit 
 
 Of them that sit around the Throne ? 
 He who upon the darken'd eyes 
 
 Has breathed, and touched the chords within, 
 Will order all aright. Till then, 
 Here let me, in the ways of men, 
 Walk meekly ; and essay to win 
 The righteous joy this life supplies. 
 
 * Samuel Ferguson. 
 
54 Sacred Poems. 
 
 Cfte ^tillage Pastor. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 f|7)EAR yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, 
 
 "* And still where many a garden flower grows wild; 
 
 There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, 
 
 The village preacher's modest mansion rose. 
 
 A man he was to all the country dear, 
 
 And passing rich with forty pounds a year ; 
 
 Remote from towns he ran his godly race, 
 
 Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change his place ; 
 
 Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for power, 
 
 By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour ; 
 
 Far other aims his heart had learned to prize, 
 
 More bent to raise the wretched than to rise. 
 
 His house was known to all the vagrant train, 
 
 He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain. 
 
 The long remember'd beggar was his guest, 
 
 Whose beard descending swept his aged breast ; 
 
 The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud, 
 
 Claimed kindred there, and had his claims allow'd ; 
 
 The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, 
 
 Sate by his fire and talked the night away ; 
 
 Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done, 
 
 Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields were won. 
 
 Pleas'd with his guests, the good man learned to glow, 
 
 And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; 
 
 Careless their merits, or their faults to scan, 
 
 His pity gave ere charity began. 
 
 Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, 
 And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side ; 
 But in his duty prompt at every call, 
 He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all. 
 And as a bird each fond endearment tries 
 To tempt its new fledg'd offspring to the skies, 
 He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, 
 Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. 
 
Sacred Poems. 55 
 
 Beside the bed where parting life was laid, 
 And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismayed, 
 The reverend champion stood. At his control 
 Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul ; 
 Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, 
 And his last faltering accents whispered praise. 
 
 At church, with meek and unaffected grace, 
 His looks adorned the venerable place ; 
 Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway, 
 And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray. 
 The service past, around the pious man, 
 With ready zeal, each honest rustic ran ; 
 E'en children followed with endearing wile, 
 And plucked his gown, to share the good man's smile. 
 His ready smile a parent's warmth exprest, 
 Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distrest ; 
 To them his heart, his love, his grief were given, 
 But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. 
 As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, 
 Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, 
 Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, 
 Eternal sunshine settles on its head. 
 
 Oliver Goldsmith. 
 
 Cotoet ann tbe Dpen air. 
 
 XX. 
 
 ' EARNING sat in a lonely tower, 
 
 Heaping knowledge hour by hour ; 
 Searching through all lives, all forces, 
 All beginnings, and all courses ; 
 Tracing on, from old to new, 
 How rounded worlds from chaos grew ; 
 Sifting all matter's form and plan, 
 Within the utmost reach of man ; 
 
56 Sacred Poems. 
 
 All dependence, all relation, 
 Through the system of creation. 
 Of man's minds, too, and its modes, 
 Disentangling all the nodes, 
 To that limit where extremes 
 Interpenetrate like dreams, 
 Where the eager wings in vain 
 Struggle madly to sustain 
 The soul in void ; where rises ever 
 A wall of blank to man's endeavour. 
 
 One day came a shepherd lad 
 
 To where Learning plied his task ; 
 
 And of him did Learning ask 
 What knowledge was the best he had? 
 " A crowded, various earth is spread 
 
 Around my footsteps," said the youth : 
 " A great heaven is above my head. 
 
 To love and hope in simple truth, 
 To reverence God, whate'er befall, 
 This is best, this is all." 
 
 Then did Learning take the boy, 
 
 And teach him all that he could teach ; 
 
 And after many years he said 
 
 "All knowledge in the human reach 
 
 Is thine to use and to enjoy. 
 
 What count'st thou best ?" He answer made : 
 
 " Increase of knowledge is good and sweet, 
 
 That the soul may shun deceit ; 
 
 And the best is this, in sooth 
 
 To love and hope in simple truth, 
 
 To reverence God, whate'er befall. 
 
 This is best, this is all." 
 
 * William Allingham. 
 
Sacred Poems. 57 
 
 " letmtri ffl>cuio&" 
 
 XXI. 
 
 trouble for my sin, I cried to God ; 
 To the Great God who dwelleth in the deeps, 
 The deeps return not any voice or sign. 
 
 But with my soul I know thee, O Great God ; 
 The soul thou gavest knoweth thee, Great God ; 
 And with my soul I sorrow for my sin. 
 
 t 
 
 Full sure I am there is no joy in sin, 
 Joy-scented Peace is trampled under foot, 
 Like a white growing blossom into mud. 
 
 Sin is establish'd subtly in the heart 
 
 As a disease ; like a magician foul 
 
 Ruleth the better thoughts against their will. 
 
 Only the rays of God can cure the heart, 
 Purge it of evil : there's no other way 
 Except to turn with the whole heart to God. 
 
 In heavenly sunlight live no shades of fear ; 
 The soul there, busy or at rest, hath peace ; 
 And music floweth from the various world. 
 
 The Lord is great and good, and is our God. 
 There needeth not a word, but only these : 
 Our God is good ; our God is great. 'Tis well. 
 
 All things are ever God's ; the show of things 
 Are of men's fantasy, and warp'd with sin ; 
 God, and the things of God, immutable. 
 
58 Sacred Poems. 
 
 O great, good God, my pray'r is to neglect 
 
 The shows of fantasy, and turn myself 
 
 To thy unfenced, unmeasured warmth and light ! 
 
 Then were all shows of things a part of truth ; 
 Then were my soul, if busy or at rest, 
 Residing in the house of perfect peace ! 
 
 * William Allingham. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 2f MESSENGER, that stood beside my bed, 
 ^ In words of clear and cruel import said, 
 (And yet methought the tone was less unkind), 
 " I bring thee pain of body and of mind." 
 
 Each gift of each must pay a toll to me; 
 Nor flight, nor force, nor suit can set thee free ; 
 Until my brother come, I say not when : 
 Affliction is my name, unlov'd of men." 
 
 I swooned, then, bursting up in talk derang'd, 
 Shatter'd to tears ; while he stood by unchang'd. 
 I held my peace, my heart with courage burn'd, 
 And to his cold touch one faint sigh returned. 
 
 Undreamt-of wings he lifted : " For a while 
 I vanish. Never be afraid to smile 
 Lest I waylay thee : curse me not ; nay, love ; 
 That I may bring thee tidings from above." 
 
Sacred Poems. 59 
 
 And often since, by day or night, descends 
 The face obdurate ; now almost a friend's. 
 Oh ! quite to Faith ; but Frailty's lips not dare 
 The word. To both this angel taught a pray'r. 
 
 " Lord God, thy servant, wounded and bereft, 
 Feels thee upon his right hand and his left ; 
 Hath joy in grief, and still by losing gains ; 
 All this is gone, yet all myself remains !" 
 
 * William Allingham. 
 
 TBunal of 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Y Nebo's lonely mountain, 
 
 On this side Jordan's wave, 
 In a vale in the land of Moab 
 
 There lies a lonely grave. 
 And no man knows that sepulchre, 
 
 And no man saw it e'er, 
 For the angels of God upturned the sod, 
 And laid the dead man there. 
 
 That was the grandest funeral 
 
 That ever pass'd on earth ; 
 But no man heard the trampling, 
 
 Or saw the train go forth 
 Noiselessly as the daylight 
 
 Comes back when night is done, 
 And the crimson streak on ocean's cheek 
 
 Grows into the great sun. 
 
 Noiselessly as the spring-time 
 Her crown of verdure weaves, 
 
 And all the trees on all the hills, 
 Open their thousand leaves ; 
 
60 Sacred Poems. 
 
 So without sound of music, 
 
 Or voice of them that wept, 
 Silently down from the mountain's crown, 
 
 The great procession swept. 
 
 Perchance the bald old eagle, 
 
 On grey Beth Peer's height, 
 Out of his lonely eyrie, 
 
 Looked on the wondrous sight ; 
 Perchance the lion stalking, 
 
 Still shuns that hallowed spot, 
 For beast and bird have seen and heard, 
 
 That which man knoweth not 
 
 But when the warrior dieth, 
 
 His comrades in the war, 
 With arms reversed and muffled drum, 
 
 Follow his funeral car ; 
 They show the banners taken, 
 
 They tell his battles won, 
 And after him lead his masterless steed, 
 
 While peals the minute gun. 
 
 Amid the noblest of the land, 
 
 We lay the sage to rest, 
 And give the bard an honour'd place 
 
 With costly marble drest, 
 In the great minster transept 
 
 Where lights like glories fall, 
 And the organ rings, and the sweet choir sings 
 
 Along the emblazon'd wall. 
 
 This was the truest warrior 
 
 That ever ttuckled sword ; 
 This the most gifted poet 
 
 That ever breath'd a word. 
 And never earth's philosopher 
 
 Traced with his golden pen 
 On the deathless page truths half so sage 
 
 As he wrote down for men. 
 
Sacred Poems. 61 
 
 And had he not high honour, 
 
 The hill side for a pall, 
 To lie in state, while angels wait . 
 
 With stars for tapers tall, 
 And the dark rock-pines, like tossing plumes, 
 
 Over his bier to wave, 
 And God's own hand in that lonely land 
 
 To lay him in the grave. 
 
 In that strange grave without a name, 
 
 Whence his uncoffin'd clay 
 Shall break again, O wondrous thought ! 
 
 Before the Judgment day. 
 And stand with glory wrapt around 
 
 On the hills he never trod, 
 And speak of the strife, that won our life, 
 
 With the Incarnate SON OF GOD. 
 
 O lonely grave in Moab's land ! 
 
 O dark Beth-peor's hill ! 
 Speak to these curious hearts of ours, 
 
 And teach them to be still. 
 God hath His mysteries of grace, 
 
 Ways that we cannot tell, 
 He hides them deep, like the hidden sleep 
 
 Of him He loved so well. 
 
 * Mrs, Alexander. 
 
 Cfte ClouD on t&e Cafaernacle* 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 the Presence-cloud of God, 
 His Ark enshrouded lay ; 
 No airs that kissed the desert sod, 
 Might breathe that mist away. 
 
62 Sacred Poems. 
 
 So wrapp'd their own soft leaves amid, 
 
 The silver lilies grow, 
 So lies the golden chalice hid 
 
 Beneath the veil of snow. 
 
 But when the crescent moon from far 
 Led up her countless train, 
 
 A brighter light than any star, 
 Glowed on the darken'd plain. 
 
 The wild beast skulking for his prey, 
 Shunned that unearthly blaze, 
 
 The desert bird fled fast away, 
 Or slyly came to gaze : 
 
 As outcasts wandering to and fro, 
 Pause by the lighted hall, 
 
 And watch the gleam along the snow 
 From the high casements fall : 
 
 And eyes as wild, with wistful glance, 
 Watched where that cloud was hung, 
 
 The warrior leaning on his lance, 
 The Priest with stave unslung, 
 
 With many a day the banners bright, 
 Drooped listless in the heat, 
 
 And children in their mother's sight 
 Played down the tented street. 
 
 It rose, and over hill and dale, 
 The pennons broad were flung 
 
 The Levite took the purple veil, 
 The silver trumpets rung. 
 
 And onward boldly Israel trod 
 Wide plain, or mountain grey, 
 
 While, silent as the hand of God, 
 It pointed out the way. 
 
Sacred Poems. 63 
 
 But more than fire in night's dark face, 
 
 Than mists when suns are red, 
 The Presence-cloud of love and grace, 
 
 That Christ doth on us shed : 
 
 The cloud that goes before our fears, 
 
 And conquers every foe, 
 The calm sweet light that glows and cheers, 
 
 When hearts beat cold and low. 
 
 Rise up, O Lord ! and scatter Thou 
 
 Our pride, and lust, and hate, 
 The sins that line the mountain brow, 
 
 And throng the city gate. 
 
 Return, O Lord ! when sad and low 
 
 Beneath the desert skies, 
 We pause in weariness or woe, 
 
 With salt tears in our eyes. 
 
 Come, gentle as a drooping cloud, 
 
 Sweet as a summer star, 
 With Thine own Self ourselves enshroud, 
 
 And lead this weary war. 
 
 * Mrs. Alexander. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 en of the Lord God planted 
 Eastward in Eden in the days of old, 
 Where the large blossoms and the fruits enchanted 
 That filled the earliest tale our mothers told ? 
 
64 Sacred Poems. 
 
 Lingers it yet, kept by an Angel warden, 
 Over the purple mountains far away 
 Untouched, since sinless Adam dressed the garden, 
 And the Lord walked there in the cool of day ? 
 
 Nay, ask not wherefore should our spirits venture 
 Over the eastern hills beyond the bars, 
 Where the broad sun girt with his rosy cincture 
 Comes burning up, and darkens all the stars ? 
 
 Why should we wish o'er sea and desert going 
 To find the vision true in some far land, 
 To dwell beside the gate and hear the flowing 
 Of the great river with its golden sand ? 
 
 The font stands yet in many a church's portal, 
 The prayers still echo round where we were made 
 Heirs of an Eden beautiful, immortal, 
 Where never serpent glided through the glade. 
 
 There flows eternally the gifted river, 
 Whose healing wave is as the crystal clear, 
 There grows the tree of life that sheddeth never 
 Its twelve bright fruits renewed twelve times a year. 
 
 For us that cooling wave, for us the beauty 
 Of that bright place that has nor sun, nor night, 
 If but by Christ's dear grace, in love and duty, 
 We walk below like children of the light. 
 
 So may we dream of those invisible bowers, 
 The water's tremulous flow, the flowery sod, 
 Hopeful that Christ's new Eden shall be ours, 
 The home of saints, the Paradise of God. 
 
 * Mrs. Alexander. 
 
Sacred Poems. 65 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 ISE up, rise up, O Rahab ; 
 
 And bind the scarlet thread 
 On the casement of thy chamber, 
 When the battle waxeth red. 
 
 From the double feast of Gilgal, 
 From Jordan's cloven wave, 
 
 They come with sound of trumpet, 
 With banner and with glaive. 
 
 Death to the foes of Israel ! 
 
 But joy to thee and thine, 
 To her who saved the spies of God, 
 
 Who shows the scarlet line ! 
 
 Twas in the time of harvest, 
 When the corn lay on the earth, 
 
 That first she bound the signal 
 And bade the spies go forth. 
 
 For a cry came to her spirit 
 From the far Egyptian coasts, 
 
 And a dread was in her bosom 
 Of the mighty Lord of Hosts. 
 
 And the faith of saints and martyrs 
 Lay brave at her heart's core, 
 
 As some inward pulse were throbbing 
 Of the kingly line she bore. 
 
66 Sacred Poems. 
 
 As there comes a sudden fragrance 
 In the last long winter's day, 
 
 From the paly silken primrose, 
 Or the violet by the way. 
 
 And we pause, and look around us, 
 And we feel through every vein 
 
 That the tender spring is coming 
 And the summer's rosy reign. 
 
 In the twilight of our childhood, 
 When youth's shadows lie before, 
 
 There come thoughts into our bosoms 
 Like the spies to Rahab's door. 
 
 And we scarcely know their value, 
 Or their power for good or ill, 
 
 But we feel they are God's angels, 
 And they seek us at His will. 
 
 And we tremble at their presence, 
 And we blush to let them forth, 
 
 In some word of tender feeling, 
 Or some deed of Christian worth. 
 
 Yet those guests perchance may witness 
 
 In that awful battle day, 
 When the foe is on the threshold, 
 
 And the gates of life give way : 
 
 When the soul that seeks for safety, 
 Shall behold but one red sign 
 
 But the blood drops of Atonement 
 On the cross of Love Divine ! 
 
 * Mrs. Alexander. 
 
Sacred Poems, 67 
 
 3rmour of 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 " 4tORTH from the camp of Israel 
 
 J' Whoso will match with me ! 
 The mightiest of her champions, 
 
 The foremost of her three !" 
 And high and fierce and haughty, 
 
 In front of Israel's lines, 
 Strode up and down the giant 
 
 That led the Philistines. 
 
 Philistia's tented thousands 
 
 Lay watching in the rear 
 The tall shield borne before him, 
 
 The brandish of his spear : 
 Full forty days defiant 
 
 Rang out that challenge grim, 
 While in the hosts of Israel 
 
 Was none that answered him. 
 
 Then up and spake young David, 
 
 From Judah's pasture sod 
 " Uncircumcised ! and dares he 
 
 To taunt the hosts of God ? 
 Less, less than slaughter'd lion 
 
 His looks my heart appal !" 
 They heard, and brought the stripling 
 
 In haste before king Saul. 
 
 " Wilt thou engage the giant, 
 
 That art a beardless boy ? 
 Then gird thee with mine armour, 
 
 Or dare not that wild joy !" 
 
 2 
 
68 Sacred Poems. 
 
 But he said, " I have not proved it :" 
 Then aimed the smooth stone well, 
 
 And trembling fled the foemen 
 As prone their champion fell ! 
 
 Through well nigh three milleniums, 
 
 Since then, the Church hath passed, 
 And sounds of other challenge 
 
 Rise awful on the blast ; 
 The foe without, insulting 
 
 The traitor heart within 
 And all around, the battle-ground 
 
 That God's own host must win. 
 
 O Jesu Christ ! Thou comest 
 
 With breastplate, helm, and shield ! 
 Thou sayest, " Take the Armour 
 
 That never lost a field." 
 O King ! O conquering Captain ! 
 
 We gird it by Thy grace ; 
 Strong in the strength it giveth, 
 
 This scornful foe to face ! 
 
 And ever through the muster 
 
 Of earthly wars, we hear 
 The march of true Crusaders 
 
 The distant victory-cheer : 
 The dawn is on our banner 
 
 Of days when war shall cease : 
 Our feet are shod for battle 
 
 With the Gospel of our Peace ! 
 
 O Saviour, dearest Saviour ! 
 
 Can faith be wounded sore 
 If guarded by Thy breastplate 
 
 Thine own for evermore ? 
 Can busy thought, world-ranging, 
 
 To harm or loss be led, 
 When the helm of Thy salvation 
 
 Shall hold the weary head ? 
 
Sacred Poems. 69 
 
 We turn us from the harness 
 
 Of this world's royal shine ! 
 We kneel until Thou gird us 
 
 O Saviour Christ ! with Thine ! 
 The powers of hell assail it, 
 
 And find it foil their might ; 
 'Tis it hath won the battle 
 
 For all the saints in light ! 
 
 In all our tribulation, 
 
 In all time of our wealth 
 In sickness and in weakness, 
 
 In weariness and health, 
 May faith in Thee still shield us, 
 
 Thy banner'd Cross defend 
 Till with Thee, crown'd and conquering, 
 
 We reach the glorious end ! 
 
 * Mrs. Henry Faussett (Alessie Bond). 
 
 C6e Cfjree CfrilDren, 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 '^Tf WAS on the plain of Dura 
 
 ^ The multitudes of old 
 
 Assembled in their splendour 
 
 Around a block of gold. 
 The counsellors and princes, 
 
 The great ones of the land, 
 Were met in pride, and a herald cried 
 
 Aloud the king's command : 
 
 " What time ye hear the music 
 
 Of cornet, harp, and flute, 
 Of sackbut and of psaltery, 
 
 Of dulcimer and lute ; 
 
/o Sacred Poems. 
 
 When the sound of all rejoicing 
 Still higher swells, and higher, 
 
 Who falls not down to the god of gold 
 Shall burn in yonder fire." 
 
 Blared wild the threatening trumpets, 
 
 Stole sweet the winning song 
 Of softer music ; prostrate 
 
 Fell that besotted throng ! 
 Forgot the God who made them, 
 
 And yielded soul and breath, 
 And life and limb, that they held of Him, 
 
 To the idol of their death. 
 
 Amid the recreant thousands 
 
 Were faithful found but three, 
 Who spake brave words and glorious, 
 
 Who bowed no guilty knee. 
 Abednego and Shadrach 
 
 And Meshach stood upright, 
 And spake to the king in the torture-ring, 
 
 By the gleam of the furnace light : 
 
 " We will not serve thine image ! 
 
 We bow to God alone ! 
 Thine utmost might, O King, is nought 
 
 Before our Monarch's throne ! 
 Far stronger to deliver 
 
 Is He, than thou to slay ; 
 In death or life, in peace or strife, 
 
 Our hearts are his for aye." 
 
 Fast bind they the Three Children 
 
 In hate and anger fierce ; 
 But the red tongues of the furnace, 
 
 The murderers only pierce ! 
 Then was the King astonished 
 
 Uprose he then in haste, 
 And cried aloud to the servile crowd 
 
 As wildly forth he paced 
 
Sacred Poems. 7 
 
 " Cast we not three men fetter'd 
 
 And bound, in yonder flame ? 
 Lo ! four walk through it scatheless 
 
 ONE hath the holiest Name ! 
 Methinks they love the furnace 
 
 Than royal halls more dear, 
 While He is walking with them, 
 
 And while His voice they hear !" 
 
 In penitence and sorrow 
 
 The proud king trembles now, 
 And low in prayer for pardon 
 
 Is bent his haughty brow. 
 Forth from their fiery trial ' 
 
 The three pass purified. 
 Ah ! theirs is gold, of worth untold, 
 
 With whom God's gifts abide ! 
 
 Is it brave to be a martyr ? 
 
 Sayest thou, " No lust of gold 
 Could make me bow to an evil thing 
 
 Like those in Dura old" ? 
 Distrust thyself, O spirit ! 
 
 There be idols of the heart 
 There be other foes than thy proud soul 
 knows 
 
 To draw it from God apart. 
 
 Nought breaks the power of idols 
 
 But Christ's dear love within ; 
 'Tis the Holy Ghost, the Comforter, 
 
 Who is strong to cleanse from sin. 
 With Him the fiery furnace, 
 
 Or the hard, cold world again, 
 Is a safer place than what finds grace 
 
 In the eyes of godless men. 
 
 * Mrs. Henry Faussett (Alessie Bond). 
 
72 Sacred Poems. 
 
 f>e Deatf) of g>, Colttmfm, 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 last faint glimmer of sunset gold 
 Hath sunk in the western wave ; 
 Over the isle the night-winds blow, 
 Tenderly sighing, moaning low, 
 Like mourners o'er a grave. 
 
 Tis only meet that his life should close 
 Where he watched and toiled so well; 
 How is he keeping this last, sad night, 
 That the taper burns so late, so bright 
 In his sternly simple cell ? 
 
 A scribe sits there with parchment scroll 
 
 " Now haste thee, my son, and write ! 
 Take thou no rest till the death-rest fall, 
 And watch thou, too, for the Master's call, 
 That cometh so oft at night." 
 
 The monk wrote on, with eager hand, 
 
 No other sound was there ; 
 For the grief in his soul might find no breath 
 In the presence of work in the presence of death, 
 
 Till the bell should sound for prayer. 
 
 " I would thou hadst closed the golden psalm 
 
 With the close of this passing life ; 
 But these words are meet for my last farewell 
 They will call the next brother like matin bell 
 To pray for the holy strife." 
 
Sacred Poems. 73 
 
 The words that looked from the speaking page, 
 
 That had touched so deep a chord 
 In the old man's heart, would thine eyes, too, see ? 
 They were, " Come ye children, hearken to me, 
 
 I will teach you the fear of the Lord." 
 
 " 'Tis the midnight bell ! I will enter in 
 Where my children kneel, once more ;" 
 
 And there followed one, with torch a-light, 
 
 To guide his way through the gusty night 
 To the lowly entrance-door. 
 
 Alone he passed that portal dark, 
 
 For the storm had quenched the lights ; 
 
 And there, as he knelt on the ground to pray, 
 
 His soul with the midnight soared away 
 To its home on the holy heights. 
 
 They found him there, the smile of God 
 
 Gleamed calm on his saintly face ; 
 And when the deep hush of their pain was o'er, 
 And they bare him out through the lowly door, 
 
 A sweet anthem filled the place. 
 
 They laid him low for his quiet sleep 
 
 By the Church's western bound 
 And few were there that had loved him best ; 
 For the storm beat wild ; and of all the rest 
 
 No boat could cross the Sound. 
 
 The days grew calm, and they bore him back 
 
 To the land of his earliest love ; 
 And a coffin was laid in his Own green Isle, 
 For her balmy tears, and her proud, sweet smile, 
 
 For her saint in the rest above. 
 
 * Mrs. Henry Faussett (Alessie Bond). 
 
74 Sacred Poems. 
 
 Do tf)i0 in JRememfirance of 
 
 XXX. 
 
 MEMORY ! O Memory ! 
 
 How full thou art to-day ! 
 How busy with the years gone by- 
 The dear ones passed away ! 
 
 O Memory ! O Memory ! 
 
 This changing of the leaf 
 This clear September air and sky 
 
 These thoughts of joy and grief. 
 
 That quiet rustling of the trees 
 Within the churchyard calm 
 
 The prayers so full of memories 
 The sound of hymn and psalm ! 
 
 The church's aisle their feet have paced 
 
 Who rest beneath the sod ! 
 This very page those eyes have traced 
 
 Now closed in sleep with God ! 
 
 O Memory ! O Memory ! 
 
 Yet is there one thing more 
 That takes away the bitterness 
 
 When love's great deeps run o'er : 
 
 One more remembrance, dearer still- 
 Deeper than all the rest 
 
 That calms this struggle of the will, 
 This aching of the breast. 
 
Sacred Poems. 75 
 
 It is the thought of HIM who died 
 
 For us upon the tree : 
 And said, " Do this, thou spirit tried, 
 
 In memory of ME !" 
 
 Ah ! blessed Jesus ! more than wine 
 
 Of passing earthly joy, 
 We will, we do remember Thine, 
 
 Whose love may never cloy ! 
 
 With every other yearning thought 
 
 We twine the peace of this ! 
 The great Redemption Thou hast wrought 
 
 The woe that won our bliss ! 
 
 * Mrs. Henry Faussett (Alessie Bond). 
 
 IBroften 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 WEARY Souls, whose dreams fly fast and fleet 
 
 Ere yet Life's goal is won, 
 The Grave-grass growing high about our feet 
 
 Will soon shut out the Sun. 
 Beneath the broider'd robe and costliest guise 
 
 We see the ghastly shroud, 
 Dead faces haunt us, with their calm, fix'd eyes 
 
 Through all the glittering crowd. 
 
 The years will not give back our ruined days, 
 
 Re-string the broken Lute; 
 Life's Morning glories, Youth's wild hymns of praise- 
 
 All faded all are mute. 
 The whelming waves of dark Eternity 
 
 Surge over Throne and Crown, 
 
76 Sacred Poems. 
 
 Falling like rain-drops on that hungry sea. 
 
 Nations and Worlds go down 
 Down in the dark abyss, whence never voice 
 
 Comes back to tell the tale, 
 And bid the crush'd, the wreck'd, the wretched to rejoice 
 
 In Life beyond the Veil. 
 
 Hearken, O hearken, souls bereft of peace, 
 
 Troubled with many things, 
 CHRIST'S voice alone can bid the Tempest cease, 
 
 And still thy questionings. 
 With more than human love for human loss 
 
 Those soft tones plead to us, 
 Those outstretch'd hands once nailed upon the Cross 
 
 Beseech, appealing thus : 
 
 " Hast thou no memory of the tears I wept 
 
 In My last agony, 
 
 'Mid the dark olives, while the faint ones slept 
 In lone Gethsemane ? 
 
 " For thee upon My fainting form was flung 
 
 The mocking purple Pall, 
 For thee upon the torturing Cross I hung, 
 And drank the bitter gall. 
 
 " On My pale brow the circling Crown of Thorn 
 
 Its impress left in blood ; 
 
 But sharper were men's words of taunting scorn, 
 Of Love and Grace withstood. 
 
 " For thee I trod the Hades' halls of gloom, 
 
 For thee I died ; 
 For thee I burst the folded Gates of Doom, 
 
 And now beside 
 
 The Judgment Seat of God for thee I plead 
 I Christ the Crucified." 
 
Sacred Poems. 77 
 
 O Christ ! our brows drip blood, our joys lie dead, 
 
 Pierced through with many spears, 
 Life is but one long agony, a dread 
 
 Gethsemane of tears. 
 We, too, with faint lips to the Heavens might pray 
 
 Lama Sabacthani ! 
 O God, O God, let this Cup pass away, 
 
 Or teach us how to die ! 
 
 * Lady Wilde. 
 
 aspirations for Deatfn 
 
 (From the Spanish of Santa Teresa). 
 
 'Muero, porque no muero.' 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 SOUL, held prisoner out of reach 
 
 Of God's great glory in this gloom 
 Of life, as in a living tomb ; 
 O God, whose mercy I beseech, 
 When will my spirit rend the chain 
 Of this dark prison-house of pain, 
 Where weeping, pining, faint I lie, 
 And die, because I cannot die. 
 
 How vain this only life I know ! 
 
 This bitter cup from poisoned springs, 
 
 These soiled and broken spirit wings, 
 Stained with my sins and dark with woe ; 
 These fetters bound upon my feet, 
 That fain would run their Lord to greet, 
 
 And from my soul goes up the cry, 
 
 I die, because I cannot die. 
 
7 8 Sacred Poems. 
 
 Here all is weak and poor and frail 
 Even when my life with Thine is blent 
 In Thy most Holy Sacrament, 
 
 I long for death to lift the veil ; 
 
 And if the death-psalm, low and faint, 
 
 Is chanted for some dying saint, 
 
 My prayer goes upward with a sigh 
 I die, because I cannot die. 
 
 Death brings alone the soul's release 
 From all this weary, worldly strife, 
 For life is death, and death is life, 
 
 And through the grave we pass to peace ; 
 
 O mournful exile of our years, 
 
 This life begun and closed in tears ! 
 In death I hope, to death I fly, 
 And die, because I cannot die. 
 
 My life is slain with sorrow's sword, 
 
 And still I know it is my sin 
 
 That leaves me this low world within ; 
 Yet, dead lips cannot praise Thee, Lord 
 Oh, to breathe forth my soul's desire, 
 My burning love, with lips of fire ! 
 
 Until that moment draweth nigh, 
 
 I die, because I cannot die. 
 
 To stand within the Golden Gate, 
 Bathed in the effluent light and love 
 Wherein the sphered systems move ; 
 To see the circling angels wait 
 Around the great white Throne of Him, 
 The Lord of all the Seraphim. 
 
 blessed life beyond the sky ! 
 
 1 die, because I cannot die. 
 
Sacred Poems. 79 
 
 My life, O God, I give to Thee ; 
 
 My life 'tis all I have to give, 
 
 And, losing it, begin to live 
 The life of immortality. 
 Are we not bound here unto death 
 His bond-slaves, as the Spirit saith ? 
 
 give me freedom, life on high ! 
 
 1 die, because I cannot die. 
 
 Life shrouds us with its gloomy pall ; 
 
 Yet still through blinding mists I see 
 
 Heaven's holy light stream down on me. 
 O God, my God, on Thee I call, 
 That soon before Thy face divine, 
 For ever near Thee, wholly Thine, 
 
 My soul may utter forth the cry 
 
 I live, and never more shall die ! 
 
 * Lady Wilde. 
 
 3(n tbe 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 EAD me a tale to-night, my Love, 
 With thy voice so soft and low, 
 For my heart as charmedly waits for the sound, 
 
 As the earth for the falling snow. 
 Yet, not from the pages of classic lore 
 
 Of the mighty heroes of old, 
 Tho' their deeds of glory were fitly shrined 
 In Darius' casket of gold. 
 
 Nor of Chiefs and Vikings who drained the mead 
 
 To the gods in their lordly halls ; 
 Nor of knightly cavalcades sweeping by 
 
 A leagured city's walls : 
 
8o Sacred Poems. 
 
 Nor yet would I aught from the tragic muse 
 
 Of her dark and terrible tale, 
 For on every line some passion or crime 
 
 Hath left a serpent trail : 
 
 Nor of human sorrow or human love, 
 
 Or the toil of the human brain, 
 Such memories fall on the heart like fire 
 
 And I long for the gentle rain. 
 But read to me words that will bring me peace, 
 
 And soothe the unquiet breast, 
 For my soul, like a dove, would flee away 
 
 And be for ever at rest. 
 
 Some verse from the holy and sacred Book, 
 
 Transcending all human lore, 
 That saith unto sin I condemn thee not, 
 
 Go, sinner, and sin no more ! 
 Yet read to me not from the ancient Law 
 
 Of the curse of Jehovah's ire, 
 On the murmuring lip and the hearts that pined 
 
 With a feverish, vain desire : 
 
 Nor yet of the shuddering, bitter cry 
 
 Borne on the midnight blast, 
 When the Angel of Death through Egypt's land 
 
 By the blood-stained lintels passed : 
 Nor of Israel's march with the Ark of God, 
 
 Through Arabia's burning land, 
 For it mirrors our life that deadly strife 
 
 With the foe upon either hand. 
 
 And take me not up to Sinai's mount 
 Where Moses quaked with fear, 
 
 And the bright Shechinah illumed the skies 
 From Horeb to Mount Seir. 
 
Sacred Poems. 81 
 
 For I shrink from the glare of the prophet's eyes, 
 
 Denouncing the wrath divine 
 On those who lavished their costliest gifts 
 
 To build up an idol's shrine. 
 
 But read me the words of the loved Saint John, 
 
 Evangel of holiest faith, 
 That draws the soul to the fount of light 
 
 And the life of the spirit's breath. 
 Read me the tale of the Saviour's tears 
 
 By the grave where Lazarus slept, 
 For 'tis sweet to a sinner's heart to know 
 
 That the Sinless One hath wept. 
 
 Read of the Vine whose branches we are, 
 
 Of the Shepherd who guards the fold, 
 Of the Jasper stones and the gates of Pearl 
 
 In the heavenly City of gold. 
 Where no pain is, neither sorrow nor tears, 
 
 Nor the shadow of human death, 
 For the saved shall drink of the River of Life, 
 
 Even as the Spirit saith. 
 
 Read, till the holy and blessed words 
 
 Fall on life's fever-dream, 
 With a holy music, tender and sweet 
 
 As the Hebrew's by Babel's stream. 
 Read, till the warm tears fall, my Love, 
 
 With thy voice so soft and low, 
 And the Saviour's merits will plead above, 
 
 For the Soul that prayeth below. 
 
 * Lady Wilde. 
 
82 Sacred Poems. 
 
 Jmgar in t&e Desert 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 NJURED, hopeless, faint, and weary, 
 
 Sad, indignant, and forlorn, 
 Through the desert wild and dreary, 
 Hagar leads the child of scorn. 
 
 Who can speak a mother's anguish, 
 
 Painted in that tearless eye, 
 Which beholds her darling languish, 
 
 Languish unrelieved, and die. 
 
 Lo ! the empty pitcher fails her, 
 
 Perishing with thirst he lies, 
 Death with deep despair assails her, 
 
 Piteous as for aid he cries. 
 
 From the dreadful image flying, 
 Wild she rushes from the sight ; 
 
 In the agonies of dying 
 
 Can she see her soul's delight ? 
 
 Now, bereft of every hope, 
 
 Cast upon the burning ground, 
 
 Poor, abandoned soul ! look up, 
 Mercy have thy sorrows found. 
 
 Lo ! the Angel of the Lord 
 
 Comes thy great distress to cheer ; 
 Listen to the gracious word 
 
 See divine relief is near. 
 
Sacred Poems. 83 
 
 " Care of Heaven ! though man forsake thee, 
 
 Wherefore vainly dost thou mourn ? 
 From thy dream of woe awake thee, 
 
 To thy rescued child return. 
 
 " Lift thine eyes, behold yon fountain, 
 
 Sparkling 'mid those fruitful trees; 
 Lo ! beneath yon sheltering mountain 
 Smile for thee green bowers of ease. 
 
 " In the hour of sore affliction 
 God hath seen and pitied thee ; 
 
 Cheer thee in the sweet conviction, 
 Thou henceforth His care shalt be. 
 
 " Be no more by doubts distressed, 
 
 Mother of a mighty race. 
 By contempt no more oppressed, 
 
 Thou hast found a resting place." 
 
 Thus, from peace and comfort driven, 
 Thou, poor soul, all desolate, 
 
 Hopeless lay, till pitying Heaven 
 Found thee, in thy abject state. 
 
 O'er thy empty pitcher mourning 
 'Mid the desert of the world ; 
 
 Thus, with shame and anguish burning, 
 From thy cherished pleasures hurled : 
 
 See thy great Deliverer nigh, 
 Calls thee from thy sorrow vain, 
 
 Bids thee on His love rely, 
 Bless the salutary pain. 
 F 2 
 
Sacred Poems. 
 
 From thine eyes the mists dispelling, 
 
 Lo ! the well of life He shews, 
 In His presence ever dwelling, 
 
 Bids thee find thy true repose. 
 
 Future prospects, rich in blessing, 
 
 Open to thy hopes secure ; 
 Sure of endless joys possessing, 
 
 Of an heavenly kingdom sure. 
 
 Mrs, Henry Tighe (Mary Blashford). 
 
 3[mitateu from 130t& P0alm. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 From sorrow's depths to Thee I cry, 
 O Thou, who knowest my inmost fear ! 
 
 Th' unuttered prayer, the half-breathed sigh, 
 Now let it reach Thy pitying ear. 
 
 Unworthy as I am, from Thee 
 
 My soul with hope shall mercy claim, 
 
 For Thou hast made me Thou can'st see, 
 With mercy, crimes which man would blame. 
 
 If Thou should'st mark with eye severe 
 
 Thy children's faults, ah ! who could stand? 
 
 Ah ! who with boldness could appear, 
 Or bless his God's creating hand ? 
 
 Despair might then, with impious voice, 
 Mock the vain tears of penitence, 
 
 And curse existence not his choice 
 Sad boon of free Omnipotence. 
 
Sacred Poems. 85 
 
 But mercy ever dwells with Thee, 
 
 Still to forgiveness Thou art prone ! 
 That all with fearful hearts may flee, 
 
 And find their refuge near Thy Throne. 
 
 On Thee, with humble confidence, 
 
 My suffering soul for peace shall wait, 
 Thy love shall comfort speak, and hence 
 
 Thy word my hopes shall animate. 
 
 The languid sufferer, doomed to weep, 
 While painful nights their course delay, 
 
 Hopeless of sweet, refreshing sleep, 
 Not more desires the morning ray, 
 
 Than this poor, harassed, troubled soul 
 Hath watched for inly-whispered peace, 
 
 Till mercy shall its fears controul 
 And bid its anxious sorrows cease. 
 
 And still at mercy's sacred seat, 
 
 Let all Thy children, Lord, be found; 
 For love is there, and at Thy feet 
 
 Consoling hopes and joys are found. 
 
 Mrs. Henry Tighe (Mary Blashford). 
 
 3[mitateD from 3letemtafK 
 
 CHAP, xxxi., v. 15. 
 xxxvi. 
 
 ARK, the voice of loud lament 
 
 Sounds through Raman's saddened plain; 
 There cherished grief, there pining discontent, 
 And desolation reign. 
 There, 'mid her weeping train 
 
86 Sacred Poems. 
 
 See Rachel for her children mourn 
 
 Disconsolate, forlorn ! 
 
 The comforter she will not hear, 
 And from his soothing strains she hopeless turns 
 her ear. 
 
 Daughter of affliction, peace, 
 
 Let, at last, thy sorrows cease, 
 
 Wipe thy sadly streaming eye, 
 
 Look up, behold thy children nigh : 
 
 Lo ! thy vows have all been heard, 
 
 See how vainly thou hast feared ! 
 
 See, from the destroyer's land 
 
 Comes the loved, lamented band ; 
 
 Free from all their conquered foes 
 
 Glorious shall they seek repose ; 
 
 Surest hope for thee remains, 
 
 Smile at all thy former pains ; 
 
 Joy shall with thy children come, 
 
 And all thy gladdened bowers shall bloom. 
 
 Mrs. Henry Tighe (Mary Blashford). 
 
 " arise, fyt calietf) tbee," 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 They spake to him of old who sat 
 
 In darkness by the way, 
 But heard the Saviour's passing feet, 
 
 And cried to Him for day ; 
 They spake to scorn, they spake to chide, 
 
 But o'er that living sea 
 His cry went up, till it was said, 
 
 "Arise, He calleth thee." 
 
 The suppliant rose, and saw his Lord 
 
 With new unclouded sight, 
 Bestowed by His almighty word 
 
 Who said, Let there be light. 
 
Sacred Poems. 87 
 
 And them, that in thy dark estate 
 
 Hast the same Lord to see, 
 Why sitt'st thou by the wayside yet ? 
 
 "Arise, He calleth thee." 
 
 Child, in thy budding years, to whom 
 
 The world is strange and new, 
 He bids the little children come 
 
 There is no love so true ; 
 No arm so strong as His spread forth, 
 
 With welcome warm and free, 
 To gather in His lambs from earth 
 
 "Arise, He calleth thee." 
 
 Youth, mounting up the slippery steep, 
 
 With hope so high and strong, 
 Give Him thy heart to save and keep, 
 
 From all that wreck and wrong. 
 His grace shall guide thine onward path, 
 
 His love thy light shall be ; 
 From sin, from sorrow, and from death, 
 
 "Arise, He calleth thee." 
 
 Man of the busy days, immersed 
 
 In countless cares, and schemes 
 For place or gold to have or hold, 
 
 Hast thou no loftier aims ? 
 Is there no glorious heaven to gain ? 
 
 No wrath to fear and flee ? 
 Up from the coil of mammon's chain, 
 
 "Arise, He calleth thee." 
 
 Thou of the weary head and grey, 
 Whose many years have passed 
 
 In learning all is vanity, 
 Come to thy Lord at last. 
 
88 Sacred Poems. 
 
 In lovingkindness still He waits, 
 Thy late return to see ; 
 
 Come, ere the shutting of the gate ; 
 "Arise, He calleth thee." 
 
 Up from the shifting sands of time ! 
 
 Their glory is but dross ; 
 Up from its thousand griefs, and climb 
 
 Above them by His cross ! 
 Whate'er thou art, whate'er thy part 
 
 In this poor world may be, 
 Come to the Way, the Truth, the Life ; 
 
 " Arise, He calleth thee." 
 
 * Frances Browne. 
 
 CfrilDren, 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 were simple of speech and mind, 
 Peasant mothers and neighbours kind, 
 Met in the shade of a leafy lime, 
 At the sweet midsummer's twilight time ; 
 When labour rests and memories wake, 
 When hearts grow sad for the absent's sake, 
 Thus of their absent ones they spake : 
 
 One said, " My child is far at sea ; 
 
 He loved the wild waves more than me 
 
 More than his native vale and cot 
 
 And chose the roving sailor's lot. 
 
 Some, but they might have feigned, foretold 
 That he was born for a captain bold, 
 And would come back with fame and gold. 
 
Sacred Poems. 89 
 
 " But many a day and many a year, 
 
 Is the sound of the deep sea in mine ear ; 
 
 And many a stormy winter's night 
 
 I wake with a strange and sore affright : 
 
 For the drowning cries of shipwrecked men 
 Seem mingling with the tempest then ; 
 And my poor heart cannot rest again." 
 
 Another said, " My child this day 
 
 Dwells in a city far away : 
 
 Lightly the young bird leaves the nest, 
 
 Though it holds the hearts that love him best, 
 For sights to see, and for wealth to win. 
 Early he went from kith and kin, 
 Tis said they prosper who thus begin. 
 
 " But still as the seasons come and go, 
 
 His thoughts more strange and distant grow ; 
 
 From us and from our village ways, 
 
 The city hath swallowed up his days. 
 And oft of the sin and of the snare 
 That lie in wait for his footsteps there, 
 I think with trembling and a prayer." 
 
 " My child," said the third, " hath voyaged o'er 
 
 A deeper sea to a farther shore ; 
 
 A home and a welcome he hath found 
 
 In a fairer, mightier city's bound. 
 
 Early the songs of its happier bowers 
 
 Won him away from us and ours, 
 
 Yet my tears are dry that fell in showers. 
 
 " Cold hath the love of the living grown, 
 
 But I know that his is still my own ; 
 
 My fears grow dark and my hopes grow dim 
 
 For the children with me, but not for him. 
 Safe to the Ark hath flown my dove ; 
 No change for youth and no chill for love, 
 Is found in our Father's house above." 
 
 * Frances Browne. 
 
90 Sacred Poems. 
 
 jFIotoet0 in tfje >icft Hoom. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 4t"AIR in their sunny beds they grew, 
 J' Or hung on the trellised bowers, 
 Nor lost their scent, nor paled their hue, 
 
 As a nosegay of gathered flowers : 
 But fairer still, and yet more sweet, 
 
 With the summer's breath and bloom, 
 They seemed in that narrow crowded street, 
 
 And that feeble sufferer's room. 
 
 Alone, but not companionless, 
 
 Had her silent hours gone by ; 
 From the dreary sickroom's narrow space 
 
 There were paths that reached the sky. 
 The page that tells of life through death 
 
 Had brightened her anxious thought ; 
 And the summer flowers to the eye of faith 
 
 The good land nearer brought. 
 
 Thus breaks the bloom of a better hope 
 
 On the dimness and the strife, 
 The dusty aims and the narrow scope 
 
 Of this poor and passing life ; 
 And thus, through nature's works and ways, 
 
 Such helps to faith are given, 
 That the flowers of earth may lift our gaze 
 
 To the fadeless flowers of heaven. 
 
 * Frances Browne. 
 
Sacred Poems. 91 
 
 Cfte Hap of t&e J>eart of 
 
 XL. 
 
 love of my heart is Thy Heart, O Saviour dear, 
 My treasure untold is to hold Thy Heart in my fond 
 heart here : 
 For ah ! it is known that Thine Own overflows with true love 
 
 for me, 
 
 Then within the love-lock'd door of my heart's inmost core, 
 let Thy Heart ever guarded be. 
 
 What was Thine of sorrow and pain, O Thou who in Heaven 
 
 dost reign, O King both good and great, 
 It comes not into my mind the amount to find, nor, if found, 
 
 could my tongue relate, 
 The bitter anguish and smart of Thy Sacred Heart, and the 
 
 spear-cleft in Thy side, 
 That moved, with a holy awe of Thy Sacred Law, even kings 
 
 on their thrones of pride. 
 
 O Father ! O Jesus mine ! who by Thy Death Divine, with 
 
 Life our souls doth warm, 
 Thou in creation's hour, whose plastic power made Man to 
 
 Thine own blessed form, 
 Is it not, O Christ ! O King ! a cruel, cruel thing, that nought 
 
 has been loved by me 
 Save sins that the soul defile, save all things base and vile, 
 
 that are loathsome unto Thee ? 
 
 What Moses taught of Thy lore, Thy laws that Moses bore 
 down to the hosts that stood in awe apart. 
 
 Ah ! little effect had they, by night or day, to melt my ob- 
 durate heart, 
 
 * From the Irish of Timothy O'Sullivan, an Irish poet, who was 
 born in the County of Cork in the early part of the last century. 
 
92 Sacred Poems. 
 
 But furrowing their fearful path, swept envy and vengeful 
 wrath, and excess and all deeds unclean, 
 
 And the Holy Laws Thou hast made I disobeyed, and more, 
 if more could have been. 
 
 But now, with anguish spent, sad, sad and penitent, confess- 
 
 ing my misdeeds I will go 
 Through Ailbhe's fertile land where the meadows green 
 
 expand, through Owen where the pleasant waters flow, 
 With bitterness of soul, lamenting in my dole, the wickedness 
 
 and waste of my lost years, 
 I will openly proclaim my sorrow and my shame, and mine 
 
 eyes will tell the same by my tears. 
 
 And when returning home, at length I come, O flower of all 
 
 the Orders ! through thy prayers, 
 Once more to be enrolled Christ's child, and in His fold 
 
 protected for the future from sin's snares. 
 The prickly furze and heath, the rock's sharp jagged teeth 
 
 that stung me and that tortured me before, 
 Shall seem smooth silken plains, made soft by summer rains, 
 
 and satin lawns the swift scythe hath gone o'er. 
 
 Wandering though Thou wast, at such a fearful cost, beloved 
 
 Lord and King, from Heaven's High throne, 
 And for our simple state, made sad and desolate, in a way 
 
 that hnman sense hath never known ; 
 Yet it was not till the spear, O Christ my Saviour dear, a 
 
 rent through Thy side its rough way tore, 
 And a home of shelter there to a ruined world laid bare a 
 
 Home in Thy Heart for evermore. 
 
 * Denis Florence MacCarthy. 
 
Sacred Poems. 93 
 
 Demotion. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 I wander by the ocean, 
 When I view its wild commotion, 
 Then the spirit of devotion 
 
 Cometh near ; 
 
 But it fills my brain and bosom, 
 Like a fear ! 
 
 I fear its booming thunder, 
 Its terror and its wonder, 
 Its icy waves, that sunder 
 
 Heart from heart ; 
 And the white host that lies under 
 
 Makes me start ! 
 
 Its clashing and its clangour 
 Proclaim the Godhead's anger 
 I shudder, and with langour 
 
 Turn away ; 
 No joyance fills my bosom 
 
 For that day ! 
 
 When I wander through the valleys, 
 When the evening zephyr dallies, 
 And the light, expiring, rallies 
 
 In the stream, 
 That spirit comes and glads me, 
 
 Like a dream ! 
 
 The blue smoke upwards curling, 
 The silver streamlet purling, 
 The meadow wild flowers furling 
 
 Their leaflets to repose, 
 All woo me from the world 
 
 And its woes ! 
 
94 Sacred Poems. 
 
 The evening bell that bringeth 
 A truce to toil outringeth, 
 No sweetest bird that singeth 
 
 Half so sweet, 
 Not even the lark that springeth 
 
 From my feet ! 
 
 Then see I God beside me, 
 The shelt'ring trees that hide me, 
 The mountains that divide me 
 
 From the sea, 
 All prove how kind a Father, 
 
 He can be. 
 
 Beneath the sweet moon shining 
 The cattle are reclining, 
 No murmur of repining 
 
 Soundeth sad : 
 All feel the present Godhead, 
 
 And are glad ! 
 
 With mute unvoiced confessings, 
 To the Giver of all blessings 
 I kneel, and with caressings 
 
 Press the sod, 
 And thank my Lord and Father, 
 
 And my God ! 
 
 * Denis Florence MacCarthy. 
 
Sacred Poems. 95 
 
 a Eefwfee 
 
 JFor Jfclouminfi t!?e Deati? of a Hear 
 XLII. 
 
 Otf H ! cruel Reaper of the Flowers ! 
 ** To steal that Lily-bud of ours, 
 
 Our gentle little pet !"- 
 No, you of little faith, not so, 
 Could you but clearly see and know, 
 
 You'd cease your vain regret. 
 
 Yours was too delicate a flower 
 
 For Earth's cold wind and nipping shower : 
 
 She would have withered here, 
 Her loving little heart been chilled, 
 Her sweet bright hopes all crushed and stilled 
 
 In this ungenial sphere. 
 
 The world was far too cold and bleak 
 For one so loving and so meek, 
 
 So gentle and so gay. 
 How could she in this wintry soil 
 Have borne the dust, and pain, and toil 
 
 Of life's long weary way ? 
 
 She who was touched by every breath, 
 To whom an unkind word was death, 
 
 Who seemed to live on love. 
 Who needed love's bright atmosphere, 
 Love's smiles around to soothe and cheer, 
 
 Love's sunshine from above. 
 
 How could she bear the world's cold gaze, 
 How walk its rude, rough, jarring ways 
 
 'Mid selfish crowds at best ? 
 How pass among the heartless throng, 
 Where each one plods his way along, 
 
 Unmindful of the rest ? 
 
g6 Sacred Poems. 
 
 She who loved all, and for all grieved 
 Would you have had her undeceived, 
 
 To learn how little worth, 
 How very little love and truth 
 (Once we have passed all-trusting youth) 
 
 We find on this cold earth ? 
 
 Ah, no ! ere this you have confessed 
 He acted kindly, for the best, 
 
 The Gardener of the Flowers, 
 Transplanting her, in youth's soft light, 
 With her sweet petals, pure and white, 
 
 Into His Father's bowers. 
 
 There, there she tastes a perfect bliss, 
 With no desire or wish, save this, 
 
 That you were all " at home !" 
 She and her little angel brother 
 Oft gently whisper to each other, 
 
 " When will the others come ?" 
 
 Ah ! you've a toilsome journey yet, 
 But still no time to grieve or fret 
 
 Too great the work and hard ! 
 By dear-bought triumphs over sin 
 And nature, only, can you win 
 
 Your Lillie's bright reward. 
 
 But courage ! Sometimes, 'mid your sighs, 
 Lift up on high your thoughts and eyes, 
 Gaze on the bright, blue, cloudless skies, 
 
 So tranquil, calm, and fair 
 And think : " Amid the heavenly bowers, 
 Among God's choice and cherished flowers, 
 There blooms a blossom once was ours 
 
 Our Lillie waits us there !" 
 
 * Mary Stanislas MacCarthy. 
 
Sacred Poems. 97 
 
 life 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 " fTHEREAFTER I beheld, and lo ! in heaven, 
 ^ Clothed with white robes, and palm boughs in 
 
 their hands, 
 
 A multitude, too great for man to number, 
 Of every nation, kindred, people, tongues, 
 Stood up before the throne, before the Lamb ! 
 Crying aloud, Salvation to our God, 
 Which sitteth on the throne, and to the Lamb ! 
 Then all the Angels stood about the Throne, 
 The Elders, and the four miraculous Beasts, 
 And fell upon their faces, worshipping ; 
 Saying, Amen ! Blessing and infinite glory, 
 Wisdom, thanksgiving, honour, power, and might, 
 Be everlastingly to God ! Amen !" 
 
 Time hath its night for all things ; sunset hour 
 Close heavily on empires as o'er Man. 
 His mortal throe surceased, Man lives again ; 
 But Nations fall annihilate : for them, 
 With destiny accomplished, Hope expires. 
 
 Communities are as the Giant-brood 
 Fabled by poets old ; dread archetypes 
 Of those fierce aggregates of human strength 
 Who triumph in oppression, and set up 
 Laws, at their wild wills varying, which for them 
 Stand in the place of conscience, till corruption 
 Eat like a canker to their heart of hearts, 
 And national death concludes the people's"guilt 
 
 The Devastators perish : curses, only, 
 Come frothing on the surges of old Time, 
 And break in ominous thunder on our shores. 
 The Persian tyrant and the Helot slave 
 Mingle their harmless ashes ; priestly spell 
 Saved not the Pharoahs ; nor unbridled will 
 The Demos of the Athenian Portico. 
 The Assyrian, and the Mede, the Wolf of Rome, 
 G 
 
98 Sacred Poems. 
 
 The Macedonian madman, and the Hun, 
 All sowed the whirlwind and have reaped the storm. 
 In vain Earth pleads for mercy, and the stern 
 Historian graves his record : through our veins 
 Still the old poison rolls ; and Lust of power 
 Leads on, with Death's pale courser in the van. 
 
 One Brotherhood, alone, survives ; not born 
 Of fleshly will, nor knit by mortal ties, 
 No national bond confining. The wide earth 
 Is as a tabernacle to the Church j 
 And heaven her home. From her Ambition draws 
 No precedents : She inculcates the law 
 Of God ; obedience and humility. 
 Her armoury is Grace, her buckler Faith, 
 Her helm Salvation, and the Spirit her sword : 
 Her victories are over worldly snares ; 
 Her voice proclaims a kingdom not of earth ; 
 The King she magnifies is King of kings ! 
 
 Led by her counsel to that lore of life 
 By heedful lips expounded, Christians know 
 The ways of Christ ; pray with His prayer ; confess 
 His name ; are blest with His beatitudes ; 
 Receive His Spirit ; do His Father's will. 
 Steadfast by faith, with charity enriched, 
 Hope leads their steps, an Angel-guide to heaven ; 
 Weaning from low affections, solacing 
 Disastrous days. Eternity in Time 
 They find, and Heaven on Earth : Death falls on them 
 Gently as twilight sinks on wearied eyes 
 Of traveller belated ; who, afar, 
 Descries his home of rest, with outstretch'd arms 
 Of unforgotten Loved-ones at the gate. 
 
 Hard was the task to part with those who went 
 Before, and will be, when we leave our Loved. 
 But Oh ! what rapture to regain the Lost ! 
 What joy to welcome those we left behind ! 
 What holy gladness in the consciousness 
 Of God's approval ; trials past ; high crowns 
 Apportioned ; sense of faculties enlarged ; 
 Capacities unknown developed ; powers, 
 
Sacred Poems. 99 
 
 Like mythic Pallas, without visible birth, 
 Sprung to existence ; and the mind lit up 
 With knowledge, as a sunburst on the sea ! 
 Even senses there may be we know not of 
 More than the Blind of colours, Deaf of sound : 
 Senses, whose fine edge contact with this flesh 
 Makes blunt ; or without object here below. 
 
 Fashioned like Christ Himself, heirs of His glory, 
 We, too, shall stand before the throne with Spirits 
 Of just men perfected, and holy angels 
 Martyrs, and Confessors ! Hunger no more 
 Assailing us, nor sorrow, nor disease, 
 Nor the perplexities of care, nor fear 
 Of death. The Veil that shrouds Omnipotence 
 Withdrawn, not darkly then, as through a glass, 
 Shall we behold our God ; but face to face 
 Look up with reverential love, with songs 
 Of sweet thanksgiving, adoration pure, 
 Awe-tempered joy, hope sparkling from our eyes, 
 And Hallelujahs through our lips outpoured. 
 
 Diviner ecstasies than human thought 
 Can compass, or poetic vision paint, 
 Have been upon this earth. They who behold, 
 Not by the visual ray, but inward light 
 Intuitive, have spoken : they have told 
 Who felt : and dying Martyrs cried aloud, 
 While the unfolding heaven above their head 
 Disclosed the Beatifice Vision ! Vain 
 Are words, even such as leaped from Dante's lip, 
 These holy themes descanting : colour fades 
 In the celestial brightness : sound expires 
 Amid the choral surge antiphonal 
 Of Cherubim ; too glorious for the ken 
 Of mortal brain that concourse of blest Spirits 
 Who circle, multitudinous as stars, 
 Ring within ring, the inmost throne of God, 
 Gazing with rapturous ardour ; hearing, feeling, 
 As breath of flowers pervading vernal air, 
 The inexpressive voicings from that Throne 
 Thrill through their subtile Beings. 
 
 G 2 
 
ioo Sacred Poems. 
 
 Ah ! too gross 
 
 The chain which Earth hangs round us : we, at best, 
 Fancy the unutterable Glory ; yearning 
 To realize the phantoms of our dream. 
 We judge from known analogies : we paint 
 The bliss of heaven from our emotions here : 
 That conscious spring of inarticulate joy 
 Which overflows the eyes with quiet tears, 
 When the heart flutters and the breath comes quick, 
 And sighs through parted lips are eloquent. 
 Such the absorbing sympathy that binds 
 The mother to her infant : such the chain 
 Electric that suffices without speech 
 To wrap in purity two loving hearts : 
 Such the attuning concord that awakes 
 The unison of friendship : and gives life 
 To the deep Charities, reciprocal, 
 That link Beneficence to Poverty. 
 
 Yet gleams of glory, tremulously bright, 
 And intermitting, as the midnight dawn 
 Of boreal Aurora, oft descend 
 On the authentic Church ; then most, what time 
 The congregated peeple meet beneath 
 The vault of some Cathedral sanctuary, 
 Kneeling along the venerable choir, 
 Or round the glowing alter bowed : the flood 
 Of rainbow lights from the eastern window bathing 
 The roofs and chequered pavement. Eminent 
 Upon the highest altar step stands forth 
 The mitred Minister of God ; around, 
 In order due, the consecrated Priests ; 
 Below, with bended knees and upraised brow, 
 The contrite people gather : a low voice 
 Intones with awe the comfortable words ; 
 While Angels scatter blessings ; and men's lips 
 Chaunt the Cherubic anthem. Hark ! the peal 
 Of the voluminous organ through the aisles 
 Grows like a swelling tide : the air around, 
 Suffused with melody, perfumed with prayer, 
 An acceptable incense, floats to heaven ! 
 
Sacred Poems. 101; 
 
 Here rest my Song ! The wearied wings of thought 
 Droop the voice falters ; and my eyes grow dim. 
 Yet would I raise, once more, a prayer for those, 
 Beloved, who still dwell round me, or have gone 
 Before ; and for my own weak nature. 
 
 Bend 
 
 Thine ear, O Christ ! Lord, open Thou our lips ! 
 That worthily our mouth may speak Thy praise. 
 O Lamb of God ! Thou who dost take away 
 The sins of the whole world, grant us Thy peace ! 
 Hear us, O Christ ! have mercy on us, Lord ! 
 Teach us to turn from the vain gauds of life ; 
 Contemn the world, and all at this side heaven ! 
 Set our affections upon things above : 
 For where our treasure is, will be our hearts : 
 So shall we sin no more ; so gain, for ever, 
 The vision of Thy Glory ; best of joys ! 
 Fruition of our God ! This This, is Life ! 
 
 " Lord ! Let Thy servant now depart in peace, 
 According to Thy blessed word : for now 
 Upon mine eyes hath Thy salvation dawned, 
 Which Thou before all people hast prepared ; 
 To be a guiding light unto the Gentiles 
 The glory of Thy People, Israel !" 
 " And now to Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, 
 Be glory everlastingly ; as ever 
 Hath been, is now, and through all time shall be !" 
 Amen ! 
 
 Sir Aubrey f>c Vtr'e* Bprt. 
 
IO2 Sacred Poems. 
 
 Cfce pursuit of HJeltgtous 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 dtp) EN walk astray in ignorance ; or grow 
 
 ***' Corrupt through some false principle, imbibed 
 
 From evil teachers, or unsteady thought. 
 
 So, when temptation comes, they fall away ; 
 
 Their feet not standing on the Rock eterne ; 
 
 That fundamental truth, whereon is built 
 
 Religion : frail in the uninstructed heart. 
 
 And such men oft seem pious, for a time ; 
 Nay, are so : some, cold-hearted Disputants, 
 Who bind the word in textual fetters down, 
 Freezing the vital waters ; some who quench 
 The Spirit, and with Sadducean nerve 
 Cling to the letter ; Visionaries some, 
 Like the old Essenian, or, in later days, 
 The hundred-handed Giant of Dissent. 
 
 In time of trial put no trust in these. 
 The mysteries divine of Love and Goodness 
 Are dim to Reason's microscopic eye ; 
 God's wisdom measureless by Sophist rules. 
 
 Must then all die through ignorance ? Alas ! 
 We know not : but, as knowledge leads to Faith, 
 And Faith is safety, shall we not kneel and learn ? 
 lieur' holy lessons from the Father-Saints ; 
 Submit, our thoughts to heavenly influences ; 
 And hola Religion, virginally pure 
 As Mary's bosom 'neath the Saviour's cheek ? 
 
 Sir Aubrey De Vcre, Bart. 
 
Sacred Poems. 103 
 
 atiam refuses tfre Presents of tfre 
 OEtril iRace,* 
 
 XLV. 
 
 /fltNTHRONED, and mantled in a snow-white robe, 
 
 ^^ Man's sire I saw, the Lord of all the globe ; 
 
 High-priest of all the Church, and Prophet sure 
 
 Of Him, whose promised kingdom shall endure 
 
 Until the last of Adam's race is dead. 
 
 Nor crown nor mitre rested on his head : 
 
 Yet kings with awe had viewed him ! Deep and slow 
 
 His speech ; the words I knew not, nor could know ; 
 
 But wept to hear, amid their golden sound, 
 
 A melancholy echo from the ground. 
 
 Ages were flown since Adam's lifted hand 
 
 Had plucked, insurgent 'gainst Divine command, 
 
 That fruit, a sacrament of death, which gave 
 
 Perpetual life a forfeit to the grave : 
 
 Yet still those orbs, their Maker once that saw, 
 
 Governed the nations of the world with awe. 
 
 Mournful they looked, as though their sorrowing weight 
 
 Reposed for aye on Eden's closing gate ; 
 
 Mournful, yet lustrous still those lordly eyes, 
 
 First mortal mirror of the earth and skies ; 
 
 And still with piercing insight filled, as when 
 
 God's new-made creatures passed beneath their ken, 
 
 While he decreed, in his celestial speech, 
 
 Prophetic names, symbolical, for each. 
 
 All round, checkering the steep with giant shade, 
 
 His mild and venerable race were laid, 
 
 For dance and song no wreaths as yet had won : 
 
 Many their strong eyes bent upon the sun ; 
 
 * The arts and sciences were invented by the descendants of Cain, 
 who were the first to build cities, wage wars, and substitute complicated 
 systems of society for the Patriarchal. 
 
IO4 Sacred Poems. 
 
 Some on a sleeping infant's smiling face, 
 Wherein both Love and Faith were strong to trace 
 The destined patriarch of a future race ! 
 
 Then through the silent circle, winged with joy, 
 
 A radiant herald moved, a shepherd boy. 
 
 Wondering he stepped ; ere long, like one afraid, 
 
 A tribute at those feet monarchal laid, 
 
 A Lyre, gem-dowered from many a vanished isle. 
 
 Thereon the Father gazed without a smile : 
 
 But some fair children with the bright toy played ; 
 
 While sound so rapturous thrilled the echoing glade, 
 
 That Seers, cave-hid, looked up with livelier cheer, 
 
 And the first childless mother wiped away a tear ! 
 
 And next there came, as one who comes from far, 
 
 A branded warrior, gloomy from the war. 
 
 Dark was his face, yet bright ; and stern as though 
 
 It bent o'er that of an expiring foe, 
 
 Retorting still, with sympathetic glare, 
 
 The imprecating anguish imaged there ! 
 
 A tribute, too, that warrior brought a shield 
 
 Graven with emblems of a death-strewn field, 
 
 And placed it at the patriarch's feet, and spoke : 
 
 " Certain oppressors reared an impious yoke, 
 
 " And passed beneath it brethren of their race, 
 
 " Therefore we rose, and hewed them from their place." 
 
 All pale the Patriarch sat long time his eye 
 
 Fixed on the deepening crimson of the sky, 
 
 Where sanguine clouds contended with the dun ; 
 
 Then turned, and whispered in the ear of one, 
 
 Who, on his death-bed, whispered to his son 
 
 That Man beheld the deluge ! 
 
 * Aubrey De Vere. 
 
Sacred Poems. 105 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 marvels of the seas and earth, 
 Their works and ways, are little worth 
 Compared with Man their lord : 
 He masters Nature through her laws ; 
 And therefore not without a cause 
 Is he by all adored. 
 
 Lord of the mighty eye and ear, 
 Each centering an immortal sphere 
 
 Of empire and command : 
 Lord of the heavenly breast and brow, 
 The step that makes all creatures bow, 
 
 And the earth-subduing hand. 
 
 And yet not loftier soars the state 
 Of Man o'er shapes inanimate, 
 
 In majesty confest, 
 
 Than among men, that man, by Faith 
 Assured in life, confirmed in death, 
 
 Uptowers above the rest ! 
 
 For God is with him ; and the end 
 Of all things, downward as they tend, 
 
 Toward their term and close, 
 A sov'reign throne for him prepares ; 
 And makes of vanquished pains and cares 
 
 A couch for his repose ! 
 
 While kingdoms lapse, and all things range, 
 He rules a world exempt from change ; 
 
 He sees as Spirits see ; 
 And garners ever more and more, 
 While years roll by, an ampler store 
 
 Of glorious liberty 
 
io6 Sacred Poems. 
 
 Yea, ten times glorious when at last 
 His spirit, all her trials past, 
 
 Stands up, prepared to die ; 
 And, fanning wide her swan-like plumes, 
 A glory flings across the glooms 
 
 Through which her course mnst lie. 
 
 * Aubrey De Vere. 
 
 iSocturn 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 f|7)OW God suspends its shadowy pall 
 Jl* Above the world, yet still 
 A steely lustre plays o'er all, 
 With evanescent thrill. 
 
 Softly, with favouring footstep, press, 
 Amor^g those yielding bowers ; 
 
 Over the cold dews colourless, 
 Damp leaves and folded flowers. 
 
 Sleep, little birds, in bush and brake ! 
 
 'Tis surely ours to raise 
 Glad hymns, ere humbler choirs awake 
 
 Their anthem in God's praise. 
 
 The impatient zeal of patient love 
 Hath forced us from our bed ; 
 
 But doubly blest repose will prove 
 After our service said ! 
 
 How dim, how still this slumbering wood ! 
 
 And O ! how sweetly rise 
 From clouded boughs, and herbs bedewed, 
 
 Their odours to the skies ! 
 
Sacred Poems. 107 
 
 Sweet as that mood of mystery, 
 
 When thoughts that hide their hues 
 
 Reveal their presence only by 
 The sweetness they diffuse. 
 
 But hark ! o'er all the mountain verge, 
 
 The night-wind sweeps along ; 
 O haste, and tune irs echoing surge 
 
 To a prelusive song ; 
 
 A song of thanks and laud to Him 
 
 Who makes our labour cease : 
 Who feeds with love the midnight dim 
 
 And hearts devout with peace. 
 
 * Aubrey De Vert. 
 
 O0qite duo Domini? 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 OW long, O Lord, how long ? 
 
 A swathe of darkness folds Thy face, 
 O Christ ! In clouds I faintly trace 
 The wreath of thorns about Thy brow, 
 The holes that pierce Thy feet ; and now 
 The blinding shadows darker grow. 
 How long, O Lord, how long ? 
 
 How long, O Lord, how long ? 
 Take from mine eyes these mists away. 
 Though earth be ringed with sapphire day, 
 These eyes behold the twilight grey ; 
 Though men grow rich and strong in faith, 
 This heart is in the hand of death. 
 
io8 Sacred Poems. 
 
 I cannot see Thee, cannot feel 
 That thou art near me, as I kneel 
 On rocks and briars barbed with pain, 
 And clasp my hands in vain, in vain. 
 O Son of God, appear to me, 
 As in the storm of Galilee 
 Thou earnest walking on the sea ! 
 All things are possible with Thee. 
 
 How long, O Lord, how long ? 
 
 Hast Thou no answer for the prayer 
 
 Of faithless anguish and despair ? 
 
 Hast Thou no pity for the cry 
 
 Of hopeless woe, the streaming eye, 
 
 The tortur'd spirit's agony ? 
 
 Were there but hope, this would not be. 
 
 I cry because these lips will moan 
 
 Though the flames parch them . . . woe is me, 
 
 Who cry my cry unheard, alone ! 
 
 How long, O Lord, how long ? 
 
 They said, " He standeth at the door, 
 
 Bidding thee open," and afar, 
 
 (As the low murmur of a shore 
 
 Chafed by dark seas) afar, afar, 
 
 Methought I heard Thy voice, my soul 
 
 Panted with joy ! the sounds of dole 
 
 Died from my lips ; in blissful fear 
 
 I flung the lattice back . . . my brow 
 
 Is beaten by the wind, but Thou 
 
 Thine eyes of pity are not near ; 
 
 The land is dark and cold, and drear \ 
 
 I look in vain. Thou art not here. 
 
 How long, O Lord, how long ? 
 
 O deadly clench of chill despair ! 
 Hope without hope ! Unprayerful prayer ! 
 Untroubled trouble ! Careless care 1 
 Can this frail bark such burthen bear ? 
 
Sacred Poems. 109 
 
 As the dear notes of some sweet air 
 By lips long silent warbled o'er, 
 Come back to stir the heart once more, 
 And, even while grasped, are hushed away ; 
 So on this darkened soul of mine 
 The splendours of Thy Godhead shine 
 One little moment, and mine eyes 
 Behold through tears Thy sacrifice, 
 Thy passion and Thine agony . . . 
 The mists of sin creep stealthily : 
 Cold wings of darkness shadow me ; 
 The golden light is blurred away ? 
 
 How long, O Lord, how long ? 
 For sinners didst thou die ? Behold 
 A chief of sinners ! Stiff and cold 
 My dead heart lies within my breast ; 
 Nor ghastly smile nor spectral jest 
 Can hide the plague that preys within. 
 I am too foully grimed with sin 
 For Thee to cleanse me. Ah, too well 
 I know the gulfs that yawn below, 
 The fires that round the abysses glow ; 
 Too well I feel the burning stain 
 That eats away my soul with pain, 
 Pain without rest, unending pain ! 
 I once was scarlet what if now 
 I blacken in these fires of hell? 
 A gloom of anger sweeps Thy brow, 
 
 Yet will I cry and strive with Thee 
 
 Till I have perished utterly. 
 
 O, lift me up and strengthen me ! 
 
 I cannot hush these tortured lips, 
 
 Though hope be buried in eclipse. 
 
 Look down on me and pity me. 
 
 I ask not faith, but give, O give 
 
 One ray of hope, that I may live ! . . . 
 
 A swathe of darkness folds his face, 
 
no Sacred Poems. 
 
 And yet, methinks, I seem to trace 
 The wreath of thorns about His brow, 
 The holes that pierce His feet, and now 
 The awful shadows lighter grow. 
 Not long, O Lord, not long ! 
 
 E. J. Armstrong. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 air is chill ; the ground is frore ; 
 On the White Mountain breaks the day. 
 Earth flashes like to sparkling ore. 
 The shadows melt and peel away. 
 
 O sweet and rare ! How grand, how fair 
 The hills, the lakes, the vales below ! 
 
 And the near peaks, each seems to wear 
 An auriole of roseate snow. 
 
 And high and low, the purple glow 
 On flakes of cloud and strips of sky 
 
 Aerial hues, that float and flow 
 Like visions in a painter's eye. 
 
 How great ! How vast ! . . . Alas, how small ! 
 
 Man's mighty ken is bounded here. 
 Maker of all things, lo, we fall 
 
 And clasp Thy garment's skirts in fear ! 
 
 We can but fear Thee our dim eyes 
 See nothing, nothing save the hem 
 
 Of Thy vast robe, whose lightning dyes 
 Would blind us, could we gaze on them. 
 
Sacred Poems. 1 1 1 
 
 Drop down thy plummet, Man, and sound 
 His depths, who framed thy mystic world. 
 
 What end what bottom hast thou found ? 
 Thou seest the waters faintly curled ; 
 
 Thou seest the ripple's eddying curve 
 
 A moment all is smooth and still ; 
 A thrill runs down some secret nerve ; 
 
 The cheek turns pale ; the heart grows chill ; 
 
 The head is bowed \ a feeble cry 
 
 Breaks from the lips, " Lord, what is man 
 
 That Thou art mindful ? What am I, 
 Whose darksome days are scarce a span? 
 
 " Thou dwellest veiled in awful light, 
 We know not where, in boundless space ; 
 
 Yet, in this narrow orb of night, 
 We feel the splendour of Thy face. 
 
 " The heaven of heavens cannot hold 
 
 The fulness of Thy mind divine ; 
 Yet, on this blot of crumbling mould, 
 
 The glories of Thy footsteps shine ! 
 
 " The stars beneath Thee dimly burn ; 
 
 Like dust of gold the systems roll ; 
 Yet, King of Kings ! Thou wilt not spurn 
 
 "The twilight of a human soul !" 
 
 E. J. Armstrong. 
 
H2 Sacred Poems. 
 
 Cfje 
 
 >E is not dead but sleepeth 
 
 Yea, though ye laugh us to scorn, 
 As the dawn from the darkness upleapeth, 
 
 As the night dashes out into morn, 
 As the moon cleaveth clouds in her glory, 
 
 As the Spring flameth forth into flower, 
 To His side that your spear has made gory, 
 
 To His arm ye despoiled of its power, 
 To the head ye have wreathed in derision, 
 
 The feet ye have nailed to the tree, 
 There will come back the beauty elysian, 
 
 There will come life and fervour, the free 
 Fair light to the lips, and the splendour 
 
 Of thought to the brow, and the rose 
 To the palm-smitten cheek, and the tender 
 
 Love smile to the eyes that repose ; 
 And as soft as a sleeper awaketh 
 
 He will wake from the slumber of death; 
 As a sun-lighted cloud the wind shaketh 
 
 Blowing clear into flame with its breath, 
 He will shake out the hair from its bindings, 
 
 As tow that is burning His bands 
 Break through, and the swathes and the windings, 
 
 Rend loose with the might of His hands, 
 And, strong as the sun in his gladness, 
 
 Come forth like a king to his bride, 
 Our Christ, whom ye mocked in your madness, 
 
 Made drunk with the wine of your pride. 
 
 There is not a bone of Him broken; 
 
 There is not a deed of Him lost 
 To His world, or a word He hath spoken, 
 
 But God hath uptaken and tost 
 
Sacred Poems. 113 
 
 Far away among tribes, among nations, 
 
 Like seeds whirled about in the fields 
 When the hurricanes leap from their stations, 
 
 And autumn its winnow-fan wields, 
 And the year goeth forth like a sower 
 
 To sow for the years that will be 
 Sweet grass for the scythes of the mower, 
 
 Sweet herbs for the kine of the lea, 
 Nut-kernels and pippins of apple, 
 
 And the corn shaken clear of its shells, 
 And flower-seed to deck and to dapple 
 
 Spring's girdle with blooms and with bells. 
 And though winter drive wild from the nor'ward, 
 
 And the earth be entombed in the snow, 
 Though the clods be frost-fettered, and forward 
 
 And backward the keen winds blow 
 Will ye hold in the might of the summer ? 
 
 Will ye rein the strong steeds of the sun ? 
 Lo ! back come the song-bird and hummer, 
 
 And the rillets are glad as they run, 
 And the woods with their old summer sighings, 
 
 Sway green in the gray of the dawn, 
 And the breezes with laughter and cryings 
 
 Tread free in the flowers of the lawn, 
 And the knolls are new-clad, and the mountains 
 
 Arrayed in the garment God weaves 
 With the hues of the bow of the fountains, 
 
 Of the sun-widowed skies of fair eves. 
 Will ye cause the cold winter to linger ? 
 
 Will ye screen in the snows from the heat ? 
 Will ye hold the mad months with a finger ? 
 
 Will ye trample earth dead with your feet ? 
 Will ye blow back the storms that are blowing, 
 
 Or baffle the tides in career ? 
 Have ye frozen the rivers in flowing ? 
 
 Have ye vanquished the Christ with a spear ? 
 Aha ! He is back in despite of you ! 
 
 Lo ye the prints in His palm ! 
 Reach hither your hands in the might of you ; 
 
 Feel ye His side ... be ye calm . . . 
 
ii4 Sacred Poems. 
 
 Can a man for his pleasuring smother 
 The stars or the sun in eclipse? 
 
 It is He, it is Christ, and none other, 
 Yea, Christ by the smile on His lips. 
 
 He is out as of old in the city, 
 
 He is walking abroad in the street ; 
 He tendeth the poor in His pity, 
 
 The leper that crawls to your feet, 
 The halt, and the maim, and the maddened 
 
 He feedeth the hungry with bread ; 
 He cheereth the heart that is saddened, 
 
 The dying, the loved of the dead ; 
 He restoreth the child to its mother ; 
 
 He giveth the wayfarer rest 
 It is He, it is Christ, and none other, 
 
 Yea, Christ by the love in His breast. 
 
 He craveth for virtue and beauty ; 
 
 He cleaveth to good from His youth ; 
 To witness of truth is a duty, 
 
 Yea, a triumph to die for the truth ; 
 He toileth from dawn-time till even 
 
 That light may be given to men, 
 That earth be uplifted to heaven, 
 
 And sin driven down to his den \ 
 He calleth the meanest His brother, 
 
 He draggeth the tyrant in dole 
 It is He, it is Christ, and none other, 
 
 Yea, Christ by the might of His soul. 
 
 For holiest freedom He yearneth, 
 
 Made blest by the law that is good ; 
 For justice, clear-eyed, that discern eth, 
 
 Not blindfold in shedding of blood, 
 Firm-handed to hold, and fair-sighted 
 
 To watch as the balances sway ; 
 And for him is the black heaven lighted 
 
 With streaks of perpetual day ; 
 
Sacred Poems. 115 
 
 And for Him is the world-life a prison, 
 
 By death to be cloven apart 
 It is He, it is Christ re-arisen, 
 
 Yea, Christ by the hope in His heart. 
 
 His face to the night He uplifteth, 
 
 He searcheth the stars and the sun, 
 For the secrets they hold ; and He sifteth 
 
 The sands where the gold-rivers run, 
 The rivers of knowledge, of wonder, 
 
 That roll to the infinite deeps ; 
 Hid treasure He draweth from under 
 
 The caves of the hill where it sleeps, 
 And the waifs of old time that are lying 
 
 Where the earth of dead centuries lies 
 It is He, it is Christ the undying, 
 
 Yea, Christ by the thirst in His eyes 
 
 He trampleth the seas in His pleasure ; 
 
 He soweth the desert with flowers ; 
 He dareth to try and to measure 
 
 His power with invisible powers ; 
 He burneth the idols with fire : 
 
 From the courts of the temples of God 
 He scourgeth the seller and buyer, 
 
 He driveth them forth with a rod ; 
 And His sword He hath sheathed, in His craving 
 
 For love in the turbulent lands 
 It is He, it is Christ the all-saving, 
 
 Yea, Christ by the strength of His hands, 
 
 From the cloud-folded ultimate regions, 
 
 East and west over measureless seas, 
 Come thronging the myriad legions 
 
 Of the good, of the wise, at His knees 
 Bowing down, and from hands heavy-laden 
 
 For gifts pouring pearl and fine gold ; 
 Yea, the youth high of heart, and the maiden 
 
 Pure-eyed, and the rulers of old, 
 H 2 
 
n6 Sacred Poems. 
 
 All the just, and the great, God-appointed, 
 Come thronging with reverent pace 
 
 It is He, it is Christ the Anointed, 
 Yea, Christ by God's light on His face. 
 
 Ere the world was rolled forth into spaces 
 
 Of light, into regions of day, 
 Ere the waters ran over dry places, 
 
 And the grasses sprang green from the clay, 
 His rest was of old with the Highest, 
 
 He abode with the Infinite King, 
 He was King from the first, and the nighest 
 
 To God, and we praise Him. and sing, 
 Lifting hands to the throne of His splendour, 
 
 Sing aloud in our joy, * It is Thou, 
 It is Thou, O Christ, our defender, 
 
 Our King by the crowns on Thy brow !' 
 
 He made Thee a King to reign over us, 
 
 God, who is throned on high, 
 Whose wings soft-shadowing cover us, 
 
 Curved wide as the sky ; 
 Who is crowned with the suns, O Supernal ! 
 
 Who is girdled about with the stars ; 
 At whose feet the strong oceans eternal 
 
 Are crouched in their bars ; 
 Whose breastplate is darkness ; who scatters 
 
 The robes from His shoulder like fire \ 
 Who calleth from chaos and shatters 
 
 The worlds in His ire. 
 
 Thou movest, a King everlasting; 
 
 Thou abidest with man to the end ; 
 Thou art with him to comfort him, casting 
 
 Thine arms close about, to befriend 
 In the moment supreme of his sorrow 
 
 That is blackened with Death for his doom : 
 For Thou givest him hope of a morrow 
 
 Of rest we are strong in the gloom, 
 
Sacred Poems. 117 
 
 And we know that the sun going seaward 
 
 Will arise at the morn from the sea, 
 As we strain from the bow, looking leeward, 
 
 While the wind in our hair bloweth free, 
 Looking forth at the mountain tops cleaving 
 
 The clear golden spaces of light, 
 And we spurn at the shores we are leaving, 
 
 And laugh as we drift into night. 
 
 Thou changest from glory to glory, 
 
 Thou growest for man as he grows 
 As peak after peak, high and hoary, 
 
 Palm-plumed, clad with vine and with rose, 
 As bay after bay that with thunder 
 
 Of breaker on cliff and on sand, 
 Running inward afar, rolling under 
 
 Great capes of a bountiful land, 
 Bursts full on the voyager sailing 
 
 By coasts of a tropical clime, 
 In sunlight, in moonlight unveiling, 
 
 Receding, so Thou in our time, 
 In the days God hath made for our moulding 
 
 As we fleet on our way, evermore, 
 Enlargest, upheavest, unfolding 
 
 Thy beauty, Thy light, and Thy power ; 
 And as ever we speed to the ending, 
 
 As earth rolleth on to her goal, 
 Thou wilt lend us Thy strength, ever blending 
 
 Thy light with the light of the soul, 
 Till to nought hath our labour diminished, 
 
 And the deeds have been done God hath willed, 
 And the work God hath set man hath finished, 
 
 The purpose of ages fulfilled, 
 Till the stars from their cycles are shaken, 
 
 The sun from his fervour hath waned, 
 And Life in our hands we have taken, 
 
 The realms of our glory attained ! 
 
 * G. F. Armstrong. 
 
n8 Sacred Poems. 
 
 of 
 
 LI. 
 
 ffTTJHERE in hot winds the heavy curtain swung 
 ***** Under a vast cathedral-porch, I saw 
 One crouched beneath a carven Christ that hung 
 Clear from the marble tympan ; mournful eyes 
 
 He had, and with low cries 
 
 He stretched his trembling hands in vain to draw 
 Pity and help from priest and worshipper 
 That in and out the portal, for long prayer, 
 
 Went alway to and fro : 
 
 ' Oh, for His sake, who hangs above your head, 
 A little water and a little bread ! 
 Ye priests of Christ, and callers on His name, 
 Help me in bitter need, and extreme woe, 
 
 And miserable shame.' 
 But the good priests did spit upon his face, 
 And they that went to kneel in that high place 
 Shrunk from his rags, with crucifix in hand, 
 And many a lewd one gibed his lazar sores ; 
 Till, last, some robed hierarchs of the land, 
 Fierce, angered, breaking from their righteous band, 
 
 Down drove him from the doors. 
 And I, afar off, following bitterly, 
 
 Beheld him move with bruised feet, sad, slow 
 O'er the rude pavements, on by monastery 
 And palace doors, by fanes of loveliest mould, 
 
 Pure shrines of jewelled gold, 
 Still haunts of learned minds, rich stalls arow, 
 Glittering with merchandise, through noise and dust, 
 In glare of violent noon, a lone man thrust 
 
 This way and that, and spurned, 
 And greeted as he went with laughters loud, 
 Sneered at and hooted by the hustling crowd, 
 Nigh trodden by proud horsemen, or by wheel 
 Of gilded chariot crushed ; till, last, he turned, 
 
 And out in pain did reel 
 
Sacred Poems. 119 
 
 Between the soldiers at the city-wall ; 
 And, issuing by the gates, I saw him fall 
 
 Down underneath the bastions with a groan ; 
 Then, drawing near, with sickened heart, low bent 
 
 Hard by, and raised his shoulder to mine own, 
 
 And long time watched him, gazing there, alone, 
 
 On that strange face intent. 
 But while in wonder thus without a word 
 
 I looked into his eyes, about my heart 
 Crept a strange awe, cold as a piercing sword, 
 Seeing in what vile sort so fair a soul 
 Had fallen, and what dole. 
 
 And suddenly in sad speech his lips did part : 
 * Lo, all have bowed to devils, drinking lies ; 
 The fool hath wrought them gods, and the vain wise 
 
 Forgotten wisdom true ; 
 
 They see not what they worship in their pride ; 
 Not mine but theirs the purpose they deride ; 
 When truth is in their midst they tread it low, 
 
 Part cherishing dead lies, part lusting new ; 
 
 They know not as I know.' 
 And when I turned in fear to look again, 
 His palms were streaming blood, and crimson rain 
 
 Ran from his brows . . ' Ah Lord, come nigh to me ! 
 ' My Lord, I cried, and have they wronged Thee thus ? 
 So mocked, so clothed Thee ? O, in Thine eyes I see 
 Wisdom beyond all wisdom, and with Thee 
 Abide, as Thou with us !' 
 
 * G. F. Armstrong. 
 
120 Sacred Poems. 
 
 a Psalm of l)ope. 
 
 LII. 
 
 mean they, standing aloof, the people who watch 
 us and weep, 
 Tearing the hair in sorrow, and wailing and beating the 
 
 breast ? 
 Is it aught if the stream roll wide, is it aught if the waters 
 
 leap, 
 Swollen by snows, by the storm lashed white, without pity 
 
 or rest ? 
 Have we not crossed many worse in our march, O God, as 
 
 we follow 
 Leader or lord who has led for a time, and has fallen 
 
 asleep, 
 Seeking to see Thee and feel Thee anear, going forth by the 
 
 hollow 
 White glens cut aloft in the hills, by the sands of the 
 
 shores of the deep ? 
 Would they bid us halt in our path ? would they turn and 
 
 go back in the night, 
 And abide with the beasts of the field, and herd in the 
 
 dens of the rocks ? 
 Nay ; for our hearts are strong to the end, and we fear no 
 
 might 
 
 Of waters, or loud storm blowing, or horror of thunder- 
 shocks. 
 We will on through the night and the storm, we will march 
 
 to the bountiful land. 
 We scoff at the lightning's glare, we laugh at the torrent's 
 
 roar, 
 As we plunge in the hurrying tide, and beat with a buffeting 
 
 hand 
 Foam and eddying flood, and stem to the further shore. 
 
Sacred Poems. 121 
 
 For, ever thou drawest us on in the track of invisible feet, 
 Through the crisp white mountain snows, through the 
 
 pathless desert ways, 
 By the grisly wastes of wood, by the blossomy gardens 
 
 sweet, 
 By the dry sea-wolds of sand, by the curves of the tideless 
 
 bays, 
 
 High over the spears of crag a-drip with the sunset's blood, 
 By the shores of the desolate lakes that slumber in tracts 
 
 of death, 
 
 Mid the flakes of splintering rock where the great snow- 
 cataracts flood, 
 In the fume of the watery flats, in the sulphurous crater's 
 
 breath. 
 Through sorrowful spaces and sweet we march with resolute 
 
 heart, 
 
 Nearer and nearer to Thee, as ever the years roll by ; 
 And more and more, as we move in the wandering paths, 
 
 outstart 
 Signs that quicken the pulse, that brighten the fainting 
 
 eye : 
 For lo, in the tremulous flowers we have found a shadow of 
 
 Thee, 
 
 In the purpled banners of day that flutter about the west, 
 In the droves of the flaming clouds blown nor'ward over the 
 
 sea, 
 In the hues of shining plumes, in the gloss of the leopard's 
 
 breast. 
 We have wrung from the clenched crags the tale of Thy 
 
 deeds of old, 
 We have heard the hurrying spheres in music whisper 
 
 praise, 
 And the leaves of Thy love have prattled, the birds of Thy 
 
 love have told, 
 And the streams that flash, and the deer that leaps, and 
 
 the lamb that plays. 
 And we grow with the vision's growth, with the dawn of Thy 
 
 love and power, 
 
 Clearer of eye, and keener of ear, and stronger of soul, 
 And pain is lightlier borne, and light the driving shower 
 
122 Sacred Poems. 
 
 As we push through storm and sun, and strain to the 
 
 utmost goal. 
 And sometimes, fair in sight, will flash in a tide of light 
 
 A symbol of peace to be, a promise of power to attain ; 
 For sometimes while we pause on a mountain's lonely height, 
 Out of the stretching sea, behold without shadow or 
 
 stain, 
 A thousand marble spires, a cluster of domes of gold, 
 
 Will arise and fire our blood ; or, a land of loveliest dyes, 
 Bowery plots and streams, and mountains fold on fold, 
 In the sheen of the moon or sun, breaks sudden under 
 
 the skies ; 
 Or a rushing music sings from far through the waves and 
 
 trees ; 
 
 Or odour of mystic boundless gardens floats anear. 
 Yea, we are strong in trust, we are strong in the faith that 
 
 sees, 
 And the love that yearns and clings, and the hope that 
 
 conquereth fear ; 
 And dear, though rough, is the march, and sweet is the 
 
 sound of our feet 
 
 Treading in tune together, and gay are the voices blent, 
 As we sing in the lonely ways, and a mirthful measure beat, 
 Brethren marching foot to foot, ever on with the one 
 
 intent. 
 O 'tis good to strive and strain, and pain but turns to 
 
 mirth, 
 And we hail the worst with smiling lips as we march along 
 
 to Thee ; 
 
 For doing the deeds of men we taste of the blisses of earth, 
 We attain to the ampler life, we grow as the angels free ; 
 And ever Thou drawest us on, and ever we follow sure, 
 And Thou waitest our coming, we know, afar in invisible 
 
 lands, 
 In the crowd of the spirits of light, in the realms that ever 
 
 endure, 
 To enrol us, born of Thee, at the last in the deathless 
 
 bands, 
 
 To clothe us anew with strength, and the fervour that shall 
 not die, 
 
Sacred Poems. 123 
 
 For the glorious deeds of gods, for the doing of works 
 
 untold, 
 So soon as the years have run their span, O God Most 
 
 High, 
 
 And the season of man is spent, and the cloud into 
 darkness rolled. 
 
 * G. F. Armstrong. 
 
 Blea0on anfl Ketielation, 
 
 LIII. 
 
 jj\ROUD Reason, Science, now engross the world 
 
 IT Where happy Faith beheld her Lord so nigh. 
 
 And what the substitute for breathing Love ? 
 
 Dead, icy science on mechanic laws ; 
 
 A world unsoul'd, a dumb deserted shrine ; 
 
 A dreary chemistry of second causes ; 
 
 Or, ending the interminable chain 
 
 As a pale comet film that scarcely checks 
 
 The straining sight, perchance a final cause 
 
 Faintly allowed, a nebulous excuse 
 
 For infidelity, to young beginners 
 
 Made easy : this the substitute, for this 
 
 They disallow the Word, whose name is Light, 
 
 And in their smithy forge their own conceits, 
 
 And strike a galaxy of circling sparks 
 
 That come and go, wax brilliant, and die out 
 
 In turn, as more advance upon the night 
 
 Dazzling weak eyes, soon from all eyes to vanish ; 
 
 Ignitions of the vapours which abound 
 
 In fever swamps forsaken by the sun. 
 
 Since somewhere we must take our stand, I hold 
 By the old Record ; and since He, the Maker, 
 Deigns to inform me how His work was made, 
 I will not therefore hold it all untrue. 
 
124 Sacred Poems. 
 
 While Speculation, as he swerves along 
 
 With feeble superciliousness of eye, 
 
 Mistakes for knowledge, Fancy's zigzag flights, 
 
 Lead where she pleases anywhere but there 
 
 Where Faith has her domain. Deucalion rather, 
 
 And Pyrrha's cast of lapidary men; 
 
 Or Cadmus' dragon-teeth, as nearer guess, 
 
 How such a stony-hearted race arose 
 
 With teeth whose bite is poison. Let them go. 
 
 My Father ! as Thy children, seated round, 
 
 Raise to the light serene implicit brows ; 
 
 Rapt in the past, we see the day ere man 
 
 Could say, "Tis evening ! when the earth rejoiced 
 
 As a young mother kissing her first-born 
 
 Placed perfect in her bosom. While the sun, 
 
 Delighted still with new discoveries 
 
 Of grace and beauty, coursed among the shades, 
 
 Waved by the playful branches on the sward. 
 
 Passed through the gate of Faith, we leave behind 
 
 The world where Providence received in charge 
 
 The world of miracle ; when Eternity 
 
 Gave in one instant forth each pattern form 
 
 To the safe keeping of slow, cautious Time ; 
 
 And not unwimess'd ; for those morning stars 
 
 Who, shouting, hailed the world's foundation laid, 
 
 Dispersed not upward, sure, while still remained 
 
 Yet moulding on the earth the corner-stone, 
 
 The glory of the temple : as they pause 
 
 Breathless in circling scintillating rows 
 
 To see that passive mould of clay, but shaped, 
 
 From the imperial feet to the still hairs 
 
 Awaiting life, for Majesty, receive 
 
 The stamp decisive of the sovereign image ; 
 
 Fresh glittering from the mint, stamped sharp and true. 
 
 Or, as an instrument, by nicest art 
 
 Framed to express all soft harmonious sounds, 
 
 First by the artist's trial touch assayed 
 
 Is found responsive, answering to each call. 
 
 His eyes were opened, ^and he knew his Lord ; 
 
 His ears were opened, and he owned His voice ; 
 
Sacred Poems. 125 
 
 The words were understood ; his dignity, 
 His charge, his privilege, were all received 
 As natural to his maturer birth 
 As infant actions are to infancy. 
 And if by hands unskilled or passionate 
 Some strings are ruptured or jar out of tune, 
 Blame not the artist, nor his work defame ; 
 Say not, Behold, how many efforts yet 
 Ere this crude trial shall attain perfection ! 
 Spoiled as it lies, enough survives to show 
 What was, what still might be, did not neglect, 
 Misusage, add such wrong to what escaped, 
 That Handel's self might pour upon the chords 
 His soul's demand, and win no answer back, 
 Effete or all astray. And such is man, 
 Fallen from the first ; but not to what he falls ; 
 As the grand eagle, from his vantage springing, 
 Pierced, fluttering, tumbles, limping on the clay. 
 
 The lowliest peasant's babe is nobly born ; 
 Smiles like a princess ; waves its tiny arms 
 With sparkling flexure Art can but admire, 
 Exulting mother-ward. As years unfold, 
 Have you not seen beneath the ragged thorn, 
 That with scant shadow cools the wayside bank, 
 The picture of a child ? Its pretty limbs 
 Ennobling Poverty, as day's fresh spring 
 Glints on a russet heath ; its full, clear brow, 
 That breaks a tumbling sea of golden curls, 
 Bowed o'er its plans of shells or pottery, 
 With such a fixture of the studious eye, 
 And such a pause of motion, as reveals 
 A mind conceiving, or a spirit stirred 
 With self-discovery, as an infant first 
 Stares at its fingers, wondering what they be. 
 
 And is that fairy vision, which reveals 
 In every gesture, attitude, the light 
 That glows as in some lantern's pictur'd glass 
 
126 Sacred Poems. 
 
 Within the frame it quickens, but a lump 
 Of puddled clay that waits the graver's tool ? 
 Or a true fragment of the broken crown 
 Ere trodden under foot of man of swine ? 
 What is the diamond coated o'er with clay 
 But common soil ? The sun may shine upon it, 
 But it cannot shine back upon the sun ; 
 But cleanse it give the setter's patient skill 
 To face and educate its sparkling gifts, 
 And, lo ! 'tis fitted to converse with Heaven, 
 All tremulous in ecstasy of light. 
 
 Thus life is given ; 'tis ours to give it food, 
 And carry on what germinates so fair, 
 Placed in our hand. If we neglect the trust, 
 Whom shall we blame ? if many a dawn as bright 
 So quickly changes to a leaden gloom ; 
 Not storm, nor rain \ but gilding never more 
 The landscape with one burst of the old joy, 
 Whence spread those vapours ? earth has stifled 
 Heaven. 
 
 * H. G.Stokes. 
 
 SDream* 
 
 LIV. 
 
 AS the peace of God relieved you 
 
 From the sinner's guilty pain ? 
 Has the world so oft deceived you, 
 
 And will you trust her wiles again ? 
 Do you sigh to taste her pleasures ? 
 
 Pants your heart to hear her strain ? 
 'Tis too late to count your treasures, 
 
 When regrets alone remain, 
 
Sacred Poems. 127 
 
 Once, as summer evening, closing, 
 
 Drew her shadows round my bed, 
 Wearied, lone, but not reposing, 
 
 Thoughts like yours their poison shed. 
 Life seemed all bewitching gladness, 
 
 Faith a cold unreal shade ; 
 Then I prayed in vain the madness 
 
 Would not, e'en in sleep, be staid. 
 
 In my dreams, a scene, displaying 
 
 More than waking charms, I saw ; 
 Happy creatures there were straying, 
 
 Youth and joy their gentle law. 
 Banquets here, with songs and smiling, 
 
 These apart, as each inclin'd, 
 Till a sweetness stole, beguiling, 
 
 As I gazed, that filled my mind. 
 
 Harmless pleasures, so endearing, 
 
 Could it be a sin to prove ? 
 " Yes," said Conscience, interfering, 
 
 " You yearn to give them all your love." 
 But I ventured, trembled, tasted, 
 
 Oh, how sweet the new-found joy! 
 Earnest, rapt, what others wasted 
 
 Was to me life's fond employ. 
 
 When with deepening awe beholding 
 
 Clouds on rolling clouds around, 
 Open'd oh, such scenes disclosing ! 
 
 In such light 'twas holy ground. 
 Abraham there I saw in glory, 
 
 With him who in his bosom lay, 
 And all the saints of sacred story, 
 
 But how changed from sinful clay ! 
 
128 Sacred Poems. 
 
 And there, with awful love elated, 
 
 My Pastor stood, entranced in prayer, 
 And hand in hand in stillness waited, 
 
 My parents, with their children there. 
 One was not my bosom trembled 
 
 Knowing who that one must be ; 
 For, oh ! it could not be dissembled, 
 
 I felt their place was not for me. 
 
 How I strove to catch their greeting, 
 
 Strove to show my struggling thought ! 
 But their glances, mildly meeting, 
 
 Passed as though they knew me not. 
 Vainly now my soul may languish, 
 
 Not for me those scenes divine ; 
 But my sorrows burst in anguish, 
 
 When I thought, They once were mine. 
 
 Mine in calm and quiet feeling, 
 
 Mine along life's common walk, 
 Mine in deep and rich revealing, 
 
 When with God I seemed to talk. 
 Ev'n those moments, then distressing, 
 
 With the "wedding garment" stained. 
 Now had been a heaven of blessing, 
 
 For, then, my heart with God remained. 
 
 Thus I woke ; my heart was breaking 
 
 My cheek, my pillow wet with tears, 
 And 'twas long ere reason, waking, 
 
 Could dispel my guilty fears. 
 Had I even in sleep forsaken 
 
 Him to whom all hearts lie bare ? 
 Then I thought, though tempted, shaken, 
 
 I had closed mine eyes in prayer. 
 
Sacred Poems. 129 
 
 Oh, the rapture that returning 
 
 Told my name was yet above ! 
 Christ was mine ; adoring, burning, 
 
 All my soul dissolved in love. 
 And I knelt in countless number, 
 
 Eyes of Heaven alone might see 
 " Never may I know the slumber 
 
 Would beguile me, Lord, from Thee ! " 
 
 * H. G. Stokes. 
 
 's Cfjree 
 
 LV. 
 
 QjSRAEL on Moreh's steep 
 
 -3J Waked up at dawn's first peep, 
 
 Waked up and wondered : 
 Midian in myriads round 
 Lay on the dewy ground 
 By the vale sundered. 
 
 Israel's ten thousands press 
 On in their mightiness ; 
 
 Loud the vale thundered : 
 God's awful Voice they hear 
 " Back those who faint or fear, 
 Back, trembling sword or spear, 
 Faint-hearted ! draw not near." 
 He, who can save by few, 
 Faithful to Him, and true, 
 His own great work can do, 
 
 Do with Three Hundred ! 
 
 Far down in Moreh's glen 
 Myriads of sleeping men, 
 Never to wake again, 
 
 Carelessly slumbered ; 
 
130 Sacred Poems. 
 
 Dreams, through their broken sleep, 
 Watch for God's people keep, 
 Waking them up to weep 
 
 As if out-numbered ; 
 Then back to dream-land creep 
 
 Souls care-encumber'd. 
 
 Sudden wild gleams of light 
 Flash on their startled sight, 
 Pitchers, at dead of night, 
 
 Shattered and sundered ; 
 Wake up those wilder'd men, 
 God rights for Israel then, 
 
 Trumpets loud thundered : 
 
 Out springs each heathen-sword 
 Out for the mighty Lord 
 Doing His will and word, 
 
 His standard raising ; 
 Each on his fellow fell, 
 Doing dark deeds of Hell, 
 
 Man's wrath God-praising. 
 
 Israel at break of day 
 
 Looked out and wondered ; 
 There in the valley lay, 
 Melting like dew away, 
 Myriads of yesterday, 
 
 Crushed by Three Hundred ! 
 
 Now when the tale is told 
 Of those so true and bold, 
 God's valiant saints of old, 
 
 His own anointed ! 
 Good Christian men take heart, 
 Rise up, and do the part 
 
 By Him appointed. 
 
Sacred Poems. 131 
 
 Myriads of Heathen lie 
 In darkness doomed to die, 
 
 From mercy parted ; 
 Thousands themselves to please 
 Live here at home at ease, 
 Lift not hands, bend not knees, 
 To bring God's light to these ' 
 
 Poor broken-hearted. 
 
 Yet, to His promise true, 
 He His own work can do, 
 By His own faithful few, 
 
 Earth's pitchers broken : 
 Darkness in ruin crashed, 
 Light on the sleepers flashed, 
 
 By the Word spoken : 
 Truth, through the conntless host, 
 By sin depraved and lost, 
 
 And from God sundered 
 Told out the dead to wake, 
 Heaven to rejoice and make 
 Hell's deep foundations shake, 
 
 Told trumpet-thundered : 
 Till the world saved shall be 
 From dire extremity, 
 By the fidelity 
 
 Of God's Three Hundred. 
 
 /. S. B. Monsell, LL.D. 
 
 I 2 
 
132 Sacred Poems. 
 
 greeting tfte 
 
 LVI. 
 
 thou dost meet the dead, 
 Pass with uncover'd head, 
 The Conqueror of Kings is on the road; 
 And one day we all must 
 Bow down into the dust 
 Before this mighty Messenger of God. 
 
 He is no enemy 
 
 To injure thine or thee, 
 But a Good Friend, in God's great mercy sent 
 
 To open the last door 
 
 That doth to Life restore, 
 The Pardon'd to take back from banishment. 
 
 Had we still kept the road 
 
 We walked on once with God, 
 Death had no call to come amongst us here ; 
 
 Life then had ever been 
 
 One long unfolding scene 
 Of joy without a trouble or a tear. 
 
 But when the fatal Fall 
 
 Had so defaced us all, 
 That God's fair image passed away from men ; 
 
 Then come to us Death must, 
 
 To crush us back to dust. 
 That God might make us like Himself again. 
 
 He knows how weary we 
 Of ruin'd life would be ; 
 The wild heart beating at its prison bars, 
 
Sacred Poems. 133 
 
 Even, in their decay, 
 Still strong enough to stay 
 Its upward flight to worlds beyond the stars : 
 
 Therefore He did us send 
 
 Death as a kindly friend, 
 The cage to open, let the bird go free ; 
 
 Outside of the Pearl-gate 
 
 In Paradise to wait, 
 Until its body shall repaired be. 
 
 And that, in its repair, 
 
 It perfectly might wear 
 The fashion in which first it had been made, 
 
 The Maker, to re-make, 
 
 Upon Himself did take 
 His once fair image, now so sin-decay'd : 
 
 Then unto Death His brow 
 
 The Lord of Life did bow, 
 That He might take from Death its sting away; 
 
 And from the Grave that He 
 
 Might take its victory, 
 Bruised head and broken heart did in it lay. 
 
 That, what the First Man spoil'd, 
 
 The Second might, unsoil'd 
 And pure and perfect, from the dust revive ; 
 
 That, as in Adam all 
 
 Died through the fatal Fall, 
 So in the Christ might all be made alive. 
 
 Then, when thou meet'st the dead, 
 
 Pass with uncover'd head, 
 And breathe a prayer, that the dear soul at rest 
 
 May, in the holy place, 
 
 Grow on in every grace 
 Here left imperfect, even in the best. 
 
134 Sacred Poems. 
 
 And that not Death but Sleep, 
 Death's Christian name, may keep 
 
 That worn-out body safe in sacred ground 
 Until the morning when 
 Jesus shall come again, 
 
 And all His jewels shall by Him be found 
 
 Until that morning break, 
 
 Until the sleepers wake, 
 And rise to meet their Saviour in the air ; 
 
 Until His sacred trust 
 
 Death render from the dust 
 To Christ, in Christ re-fashion'd fresh and fair. 
 
 Then will Death wearied lie 
 
 Down at Christ's feet and die, 
 That Life alone infinity may fill ; 
 
 The very life of Death 
 
 On to its parting breath 
 Only to know, and do the Father's will. 
 
 /. S. B. Monsell, LL.D. 
 
 Silent leaf of autumn, 
 
 LVII. 
 
 AGILENT Leaf of Autumn ! 
 ^^ Dropping from the bough, 
 What a tender teacher 
 Of the Truth art thou ! 
 
 Upon thee is written 
 Wisdom deep and true, 
 
 More than many sages 
 Ever taught or knew. 
 
Sacred Poems. 135 
 
 Under thee are hidden 
 
 Mysteries Divine, 
 All thy life a lesson, 
 
 And thy death a sign. 
 
 Thou hast done thy duty 
 Where thy lot was laid, 
 
 Deck'd thy tree with beauty, 
 Comforted with shade. 
 
 Over life's first breathings 
 In each tender shoot, 
 
 Over bud and blossom, 
 Over swelling fruit ; 
 
 Warding off the tempest 
 That against them beat, 
 
 Softening the sunshine's 
 Too excessive heat ; 
 
 Outer air inspiring, 
 Light and gentle dew 
 
 Drinking in, life's being 
 Daily to renew ; 
 
 Breathing back its perfume 
 From the secret cells, 
 
 Where thy hidden gladness 
 Delicately dwells. 
 
 Underneath thy shelter 
 Lay the downy nest, 
 
 Beasts in Summer noon-tide 
 Came to thee for rest, 
 
136 Sacred Poems. 
 
 Happy hearts and voices 
 Rang in youthful glee, 
 
 Dancing 'neath the shadow 
 Of thy stately tree : 
 
 While the old and weary 
 
 Rested in the shade 
 Which the whisp'ring thousands 
 
 Of thy kindred made. 
 
 One amid those thousand 
 Thousands of thy kind ! 
 
 Underneath thee only 
 None could shelter find 
 
 But Love's sweet Communion 
 Made the perfect bough, 
 
 And a part essential 
 
 Of its wealth wast thou ! 
 
 Now, thy spring-tide over, 
 Now, thy summer fled, 
 
 Thou art gently gather'd 
 Down amid the dead : 
 
 Falling with soft rustle 
 On thy mother's breast, 
 
 Very little bustle 
 Layeth thee to rest. 
 
 Sad autumnal sighings 
 
 Low for burial lay 
 Thee, with the companions 
 
 Of the summer day. 
 
Sacred Poems. 137 
 
 And the feet of heedless 
 
 Daily passers-by 
 In thy grave compose thee 
 
 All unconsciously. 
 
 Yet thy death is thoughtful ; 
 
 Life that never dies 
 Hath its claim upon thee, 
 
 And thou shalt arise ! 
 
 Wrapt around the fibres 
 Of that stately tree, 
 
 Once more with its being 
 Mingled thou shalt be ! 
 
 Till the time appointed 
 Waiting in the dust, 
 
 Waiting in the quiet 
 Confidence of trust, 
 
 For the angel-trumpet 
 Of God's Spring to call, 
 
 Of thy resurection 
 Sure as of thy fall ! 
 
 Silent Leaf of Autumn ! 
 
 Dropping from the bough, 
 What a touching teacher 
 
 Of God's Truth art thou ! 
 
 Though to human senses 
 Passionless and dumb, 
 
 How the life that now is 
 Talks of that to come : 
 
138 Sacred Poems. 
 
 Teaching truths mysterious 
 Through what round us lies, 
 
 And through earthly shadows 
 Heaven's realities : 
 
 Preaching better sermons, 
 To the point more near, 
 
 Than it is one's fortune 
 Oft from men to hear : 
 
 Home to the affections 
 Striking straight and true, 
 
 Until souls believe them 
 And, believing, do. 
 
 Life, with its first breathings, 
 Waking out of death, 
 
 At the gentle stirrings 
 Of the spirit's breath : 
 
 Life, with its renewals 
 Daily fresh and free, 
 
 Fed by its communion 
 With the Living Tree : 
 
 Life, with all the duties 
 Of Life's mystic plan, 
 
 Giving and receiving 
 Gifts for God and man 
 
 Life, with the resigning 
 Of its sacred trust, 
 
 Laying down its body 
 Hopeful in the dust : 
 
Sacred Poems. 139 
 
 Certain of the morning 
 
 When it shall awake : 
 And a glorious body 
 
 Like its Saviour's take : 
 
 Certain of the Spring-tide 
 When it shall arise, 
 
 And in better beauty 
 Blossom for the skies. 
 
 Silent Leaf of Autumn 
 Dropping from the tree, 
 
 These the sacred lessons 
 That I learn of thee. 
 
 Train me, O my Father ! 
 
 In their heavenly lore, 
 On unto perfection 
 
 Lead me evermore. 
 
 /. S. B. Monsell, LL.D. 
 
 lotie auafcetf) jFair. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 " Foedam amavit, ut pulchram faceret." S. Augustine. 
 
 was the fairest of all things on earth 
 When first she came from her Creator's hand, 
 But lost the beauty of her primal birth 
 
 And could no longer in His presence stand ; 
 Yet He, Who loveth, said He would repair 
 Her beauty, and, by loving, make her fair. 
 
140 Sacred Poems. 
 
 He left the glory of His Father's home, 
 
 And sought her in her sinfulness and shame, 
 
 Into His heart of hearts He bid her come, 
 
 And clothed her with the honour of His Name 
 
 Contented all her sufferings to share, 
 
 And love her foul, that He might make her fair. 
 
 But lest the splendour of His high degree 
 
 Should startle her, and scare her from His side, 
 
 He took her own poor frail humanity 
 And wore it as a veil the God to hide : 
 
 That she might let Him all her sorrows bear, 
 
 And love her foul, that He might make her fair. 
 
 And thus He won her heart's devotion, when 
 She saw how low He stooped for her relief; 
 
 Despised and rejected among men, 
 
 A Man of Sorrows, intimate with grief; 
 
 And all to draw her back from her despair, 
 
 Loving her foul, that He might make her fair. 
 
 And, having poured His life out for her sake, 
 He left her, to prepare for her a home ; 
 
 But with all precious things that might her make 
 Fairer, against the day when He shall come, 
 
 Fragrant and beautiful beyond compare 
 
 Through Him, Whose love had made her foulness fair. 
 
 And daily in His absence she doth live 
 In the great Presence of His life below, 
 
 Fed by the heavenly food which he doth give, 
 That she may into oneness with Him grow; 
 
 And all her losses may through Him repair, 
 
 Who loved her foul, that He might make her fair. 
 
Sacred Poems. 141 
 
 And so she grows beneath that wondrous Love, 
 
 As Bether's lily, or as Sharon's rose, 
 Fed by the beams that woo them from above, 
 
 Each into bloom, and fragrant beauty blows ; 
 Repaying all His tenderness and care, 
 Who loved her foul, that He might make her fair. 
 
 And when He comes to claim her as His bride, 
 
 She shall not then, as now, ashamed be, 
 But clothed in His beauty, by His side 
 
 She shall sit down through all eternity : 
 And tell out to the angels round her there 
 His Love, which made what once was foul so fair. 
 
 y. S. B. Monsell, LL.D 
 
 3(n t&e Cime of 
 
 LIX. 
 
 "There was a famine in the days of David three years, year after 
 year, and David enquired of the Lord." 2 Samuel, xxi. I. 
 
 !RAISE the Lord, for He is gracious; praise the Lord, 
 
 for He is just. 
 
 Prostrate at His feet, confessing we are weak and worthless 
 dust. 
 
 But the tender love of Jesus, oh, the wondrous ways of 
 
 God! 
 Oh, the joy that faith discloses when we kiss the chast'ning 
 
 rod! 
 
142 Sacred Poems. 
 
 We have sinned against a Saviour ; we have sinned e'en to 
 
 death. 
 God is pleading, gently pleading with the creatures of His 
 
 breath. 
 
 Lord, to Thee be all the glory ! Lord, to Thee be all the 
 
 praise ! 
 When Thy tender hand doth chasten, it to us Thy love 
 
 displays. 
 
 And the field around is wasted, and the land around us 
 
 mourns ; 
 Man alone the judgment slighteth man alone the warning 
 
 scorns. 
 
 Who hath done it ? Are ye standing in the ways, the paths 
 
 of yore ? 
 Seek ye there to walk, and humbly for divine support 
 
 implore. 
 
 Who hath done it, are ye asking ? Turn unto your Maker's 
 
 laws, 
 With the Word of God before you, seek not for some 
 
 hidden cause. 
 
 Who hath done it ? Look around you : " Meat cut off 
 
 before your eyes :" 
 " 'Neath their clods the seed is rotten ; desolate each garner 
 
 lies." 
 
 Who hath done it? In your cities "Cleanness" ye "of 
 
 teeth" discern. 
 " Want of bread in all your cities ;" Oh, to God ! to God 
 
 return. 
 
Sacred Poems. 143 
 
 Who hath done it ? Who but Jesus. He to whom all power 
 
 belongs ; 
 He who all the wealthy humbles ; He who weighs the poor 
 
 man's wrongs. 
 
 He whose balance just and true is ; He who searcheth all 
 
 our hearts ; 
 He who ruleth but by love who knowledge to His own 
 
 imparts ; 
 
 He who sees His cold professors full of idols, fraud, and 
 
 force ; 
 Evil reigning through creation earth's foundations out of 
 
 course ; 
 
 He who tenderly afflicteth those who as His foes behave ; 
 He who plucks us from the burning, for a remnant He will 
 save. 
 
 " Seek ye me, and ye shall live." Yea, Lord, my heart Thy 
 
 face will seek, 
 Of Thy power I will make mention, of Thy kingdom's glory 
 
 speak. 
 
 Nigh to those who call upon Thee, their desires Thou mak'st 
 
 to bloom ; 
 With our eyes upon Thee, waiting, meat shall in due season 
 
 come. 
 
 Come, then, sinner, come to Jesus. He alone can give 
 
 relief. 
 Bend in deep humiliation, bend in prayer and holy grief. 
 
144 Sacred Poems. 
 
 Tis for you the land withholdeth plentiful and wonted store ; 
 Barren e'en from your transgression, for its cry hath waxed 
 sore. 
 
 Sanctify a fast ye people, in a solemn crowd appear ; 
 Gather in God's house with mourning, and His best com- 
 mandments hear ; 
 
 But, without a wedding garment, freely granted by His love, 
 Come not to His presence; seek no half salvation from 
 above. 
 
 Christ is all ; then add ye nothing to His finished sacrifice ; 
 Be your faith alone in Jesus, lest your feast day He despise. 
 
 Lest the day which He hath threatened come upon you 
 
 from the Lord - 
 Judgment worse than any famine worse than pestilence or 
 
 sword. 
 
 Day of thirst, but not for water ; day of dearth, but not of 
 
 bread ; 
 Day of famine, which shall gather many nations to the 
 
 dead. 
 
 Famine of the Word of God, a famine of our Saviour's 
 
 will; 
 Then from sea to sea ye'll seek him, but your ear no comfort 
 
 fill. 
 
 Then, with signs and lying wonders, Satan shall bewitch 
 
 your eye, 
 And the Lord send strong delusion that ye may believe a 
 
 lie, 
 
Sacred Poems. 145 
 
 As ye choose your own inventions, God will your delusions 
 
 choose ; 
 But the Lord is now beseeching who His bidding can 
 
 refuse ? 
 
 Christ is all ! Oh, flee ye to Him ; on His bosom rest and 
 
 learn : 
 Crave the Holy Spirit's teaching Oh, to God ! to God 
 
 return ! 
 
 * Viscount Massereene. 
 
 jFotirtf) >imt)ap in lent 
 
 LX. 
 
 CHILDREN of the new creation 
 ^ To its ruler, Christ, attend ; 
 Seek for health and preservation, 
 
 From your only real Friend ; 
 All your sins to Jesus own 
 Tell your wants to Christ alone. 
 
 Christ, as Joseph, was rejected, 
 Christ was by His brethren sold ; 
 
 But the King hath him elected 
 Made Him Lord of power untold, 
 
 Prince of gifts which never fade, 
 
 Ruler over all He made. 
 
 Lo ! at God's right hand He reigneth, 
 Famine through the land is sore ; 
 
 But the stranger He maintaineth 
 Feedeth without price the poor ; 
 
 Filleth those who bread require, 
 
 Giving all their souls' desire. 
 K 
 
146 Sacred Poems. 
 
 From this starving world He calleth 
 
 Those He saves by special grace ; 
 Oft by ill which men befalleth, 
 
 Bringing them to see His face : 
 When they think He must condemn 
 Making known Himself to them. 
 
 Yea, to those His word who slighted, 
 Those who gold and lies preferred, 
 
 Those whom malice long incited, 
 
 Those whom Hell to murder stirred, 
 
 E'en for those doth Jesus grieve, 
 
 Still He calleth, " Come and live." 
 
 Come to Jesus stay no longer 
 
 Come to Jesus, sinner, come. 
 For salvation dost thou hunger ? 
 
 Let thy mouth no more be dumb : 
 Call to Him whose listening ear 
 Stoops the faintest cry to hear. 
 
 Oh ! the beauty found in Jesus ! 
 
 Oh ! the joy our spirits prove ! 
 He who called us will release us 
 
 From this world to that above. 
 Here our faltering steps He'll bear 
 
 There with us His triumph share. 
 
 Christ's the Light before us burning, 
 
 And from Egypt of our shame, 
 Led by Him, we're now returning 
 
 Home to God whence first we came ; 
 In the Canaan of His rest 
 Soon to reign for ever blest. 
 
 * Viscount Massereene, 
 
Sacred Poems. 147 
 
 of 
 
 LXI. 
 
 there be power in song's harmonious meed 
 
 To raise, refine, excite heroic deed, 
 Or crown proud virtue with perennial fame, 
 'Twas God first gave it, with a worthier aim. 
 To hallelujahs ere this world began, 
 Hymned through all spheres He waked His image, Man. 
 Touched every bosom-chord with grateful love, 
 That earth might join the host of worlds above. 
 
 Alas for man ! the muse but waked to deck 
 Sin's fatal triumph, and adorn earth's wreck ; 
 To lull stern conscience with a siren's art, 
 And hide death's terrors from the guilty heart ; 
 Strew flowers, and bid life's brawling pageant rave, 
 With riot less revolting, o'er the grave ! 
 
 But now, at hand as gathering signs presage 
 The rising advent of a purer age 
 The favouring winds of heaven glad tidings pour, 
 And mercy walks the waves to every shore. 
 Though for a while the powers of air oppose, 
 And earth's high places throng with living foes ; 
 Though hell's archangel rear his gilded horn, 
 And band his myriads o'er the brow of morn ; 
 Though wild and foul revolt the world dismays, 
 While warring nations drop their arms and gaze : 
 Still undismayed, the faithful few unite, 
 Brace on God's armour, and await the fight. 
 
 In this high hour, while sin's dark hosts arise, 
 And Calvary's banner streams through earth and skies 
 The muse, though late, may haply yet return, 
 Mourn her sad fall, and holier incense burn ; 
 K 2 
 
148 Sacred Poems. 
 
 Assert her God and armed with angel-hand, 
 
 Like Milton's Abdiel, spurn the apostate band. 
 
 As one to God new-born, for song no more 
 
 Pieria's fountain shall the bard explore. 
 
 With thirst more pure than e'er the Theban knew, 
 
 He there shall quaff life's waters, and renew 
 
 The songs of Zion in a happier day, 
 
 The accomplished era of Isaiah's lay ; 
 
 Sing present Christ, with all a prophet's fire, 
 
 And wake to joy the sleep of David's lyre ! 
 
 The lowliest verse that ever breathed to impart 
 
 Its simple fervour to the pious heart, 
 
 To make praise vocal, and give faith a voice, 
 
 Or help the humblest Christian to rejoice, 
 
 Though feebly lisped from childhood's faltering tongue, 
 
 Yet chimes aloft, where heavenly strains are sung ; 
 
 That spirit pure all human thought above 
 
 Still bears it up on wings of holiest love ! 
 
 When Fame's proud trophies and recording page, 
 And all that power has heaped through every age, 
 With Pharaoh's piles to sightless dust are hurled, 
 And He who launched shall stay this rolling world ; 
 Then History's tome in one brief sentence read 
 Shall speak man's fall, Redemption from the dead; 
 Man's sinful dream, while heaven and hell contend 
 To sink or save him and the eventful end ! 
 Oh ! what may then one earth-born strain prolong, 
 When all earth's themes are past ? The Christian's song. 
 
 When the seer's wisdom and the poet's lay 
 
 Like childhood's idle tales are past away, 
 
 Nor more shed sweetness upon mortal ears, 
 
 When Shakespeare's self is silenced with the spheres ; 
 
 When tongues shall cease, and transient science fail, 
 
 The harps of heaven shall catch the undying tale. 
 
 Past ruin's power, shall sacred truth embalm 
 
 The hallowed hymn, the heavenly-breathing psalm. 
 
Sacred Poems. 149 
 
 Strains now unhonoured in this world's esteem, 
 When earth sinks mute shall be the seraphs' theme ; 
 And all the choirs of blessedness employ 
 The still, sweet song of everlasting joy ! 
 
 Rev. J. Wills, D.D. 
 
 Cfje Passing TBell 
 
 LXII. 
 
 7T7TJITH its measured pause and its long drawn wail, 
 
 ***** The minster bell swings on the gale, 
 
 And saddens the vale with its solemn toll 
 
 That passeth away like a passing soul 
 
 Pulse after pulse still diminishing on, 
 
 Till another rings forth for the dead and gone. 
 
 The minute-sound of that mourning bell 
 Is the lord's of the valley the rich man's knell ; 
 While it swells on his lawns and his woodlands bright, 
 He breathes not, hears not, nor sees the light ; 
 On the couch of his ease he lies stiff and wan 
 In the midst of his pomp he is dead and gone. 
 
 The pride has passed from his haughty brow 
 Where are his plans and high projects now ? 
 Another lord in his state is crowned, 
 To level his castles with the ground ! 
 Respect and terror pass reckless on 
 His frowns and favours are dead and gone. 
 
 Had he wisdom, and wealth, and fame, 
 Mortal tongue shall forget his name ; 
 Other hands shall disperse his store 
 Earthly dream shall he dream no more. 
 His chair is vacant his way lies on 
 To the formless cells of the dead and gone. 
 
150 Sacred Poems. 
 
 Passing bell that doth sadly fling 
 
 Thy wailing wave on the air of spring, 
 
 There is no voice in thy long wild moan, 
 
 To tell where the parted soul is flown, 
 
 To what far mansion it travels on, 
 
 While thou tollest thus for the dead and gone. 
 
 Yet, bell of death, on the living air 
 
 Thy notes come bound from the house of prayer 
 
 They speak of the valley of darkness trod, 
 
 On a path once walked by the Son of God, 
 
 Whose word of promise inviteth on, 
 
 Through the gate unclosed for the dead and gone. 
 
 Rev. J. Wills, D.D. 
 
 lines to HDrton, 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 huntsman of the eastern sky, Orion huge and 
 bright, 
 Climbing the dim blue hills of heaven all in the jewelled 
 
 night ^ 
 
 Thy golden girdle cast around thy dark and untraced form, 
 And thy starry dirk keen glittering in the midnight's freezing 
 storm. 
 
 Bright issuer from the cold night wave, a watery couch was 
 
 thine 
 A thousand fathoms weltering deep beneath the salt sea 
 
 brine ; 
 
 Yet here thou art, all standing up against the dome of sky, 
 With belt and blade, and limbs of light, in matchless 
 
 brilliancy. 
 
Sacred Poems. 151 
 
 The planets bowled by God's right hand along their whirling 
 
 track 
 
 The lamps of gold that burn untold o'er the circling Zodiac 
 The wild north lights that blaze at nights the white moon's 
 
 gleaming ball 
 These cannot vie with thee, Orion, kingliest of them all. 
 
 There are the Silver Brothers side by side they still are 
 
 beaming ; 
 And Perseus, bent like sabre bright, with blade of stars 
 
 keen gleaming ; 
 
 Cassiopeia's golden chair, and the Virgin's sparkling sheaf, 
 And Fomalhaut's far smile of light, too fair to be so brief. 
 
 And the bold Bull, on whose broad brow glitters one eye- 
 like star, 
 
 Gleaming amid the Hyads pale, and seems to glare from 
 'far 
 
 On fair Capella's tender beam, or to quail beneath the 
 rays 
 
 Of the lofty Lion brothers, who from the proud Pole gaze. 
 
 And Lyra's graceful harp, hung high, breathes down its 
 
 voiceless might 
 
 On Atair's upward gaze of fire, and fixes his wild flight : 
 While o'er him, all entranced too, still and lovely, follows 
 
 on, 
 Swimming in heaven's wide lake of blue, the white and 
 
 stately Swan. 
 
 And the dim clustering Sisters, ever weeping o'er the sea ; 
 And the proud Crown, all sparkling down, huge Hercules, 
 
 on thee ! 
 Great Ursa, with his pointers, treading the north wastes 
 
 cold 
 And Bootes, on whose burning thigh Arcturus flames in 
 
 gold. 
 
152 Sacred Poems. 
 
 And thou, oh ! regal Pole-star, in the vast and spangled 
 
 dome 
 
 Of ebon night, the loftiest fast-fixed, while others roam : 
 In thy dimness, in thy farness, there is mystery and might, 
 As thou lookest down o'er star-decked fields of endless sky 
 
 and night. 
 
 Oh, lovely in thy loneliness no star is near thee ever ; 
 
 While others set or circle round thee, still thou changest 
 never : 
 
 Faint type of Him who fixed thee there, heaven's beacon- 
 light to be 
 
 For the lonely step on the desert path, or the wanderer on 
 the sea. 
 
 But thou and all thy brilliant brothers sparkle not so bright 
 As Orion, kingly constellation, strong hunter of the night ; 
 As I gaze upon thee now, from my open lattice-pane, 
 With thy transverse limbs of glittering light uprising from 
 the main. 
 
 And I find thy name in " the blind old man of Scio's " 
 
 tuneful page, 
 Whose grand old lyre is honoured still through every clime 
 
 and age, 
 How he drew thee for admiring Greece through midnight 
 
 fields of air 
 Great huntsman, with thy two bright dogs chasing the wild 
 
 North Bear ! 
 
 And again, in his bright verse, he makes the Ithacensian 
 
 tell 
 
 How he saw thy shade in flowery meads of Elysian Asphodel 
 A starlike form, with belted waist, and mace of burning 
 
 brass, 
 But like the figures in a dream, or the shadow in a glass. 
 
Sacred Poems. 153 
 
 But thy sparkle and thy name, too, is on a better page 
 E'en God's blessed Book ; and here I find a record of thy 
 
 age, 
 How young and fresh thou seemest now ; yet thine unaltered 
 
 rays 
 Sparkled three thousand years ago, before Job's anguish'd 
 
 gaze. 
 
 And the Lord himself, thy Maker, wrapped in the whirling 
 
 storm, 
 In voice of thunder named thy name, o'er His servant's 
 
 prostrate form, 
 
 As if He would arraign the worm whose troubled spirit dare 
 Uplift himself 'gainst Him who made a thing like thee so 
 
 fair. 
 
 And tracing thee in God's bright Book to another clime and 
 
 age, 
 The prophet herdsman saw thy beauty, and transferred it to 
 
 his page, 
 When he prayed proud Judah to repent, from Tekoah's 
 
 mountain height, 
 And seek their glorious God, who knit thy beaming bands 
 
 of light. 
 
 But most of all, I hail thee as thou comest to visit me 
 
 In this utter sense of night intense, when thoughts are pure 
 
 and free ; 
 Friends and kinsmen all have said farewell spoke is the 
 
 last good night, 
 And I am left alone with thee and Him who gave thee 
 
 light. 
 
 Yet not alone when He is near His heavens above me 
 
 roll, 
 A blazoned book, from whence I draw deep lessons to my 
 
 soul. 
 
154 Sacred Poems. 
 
 Oh ! if these stars, which are but streams, have such pure 
 
 brilliancy, 
 How rich in waves of living light the glorious fount must be. 
 
 And, again, when night comes forth in might, and her 
 
 jewelled zone is rolled 
 Around her waist, one burning belt of diamonds, rays, and 
 
 gold; 
 
 How solemn is it then, to think that "this excess of light," 
 To us so fair, yet is not clean in His most holy sight. 
 
 And deeper still the mind would pierce through the clouded 
 
 times of old, 
 When chaos reigned ere creation dawned and this vault 
 
 was dark and cold, 
 Till He spake the word, and straight came forth from the 
 
 womb of ancient night 
 Ten thousand thousand dazzling suns, and decked the 
 
 heavens with light ! 
 
 Poor feeble types of His far beam, the source and spring of 
 
 day! 
 
 How faint and dim you shine beside his unapproached ray ! 
 Your lamps are bright for life's brief night, yet soon to pale 
 
 and die, 
 When o'er the expectant world shall dawn the Day-star from 
 
 on high. 
 
 Daybreak o'er the dark mountains, foretold in prophet's story, 
 Upspringing, kindling far and near, a morn of matchless 
 
 glory- 
 When He who wore the thorns of yore shall tread the 
 
 sounding earth, 
 And His smile of light beam broad and bright o'er a new 
 
 creation's birth. 
 
 * Rev. R. S. Brooke, D.D. 
 
Sacred Poems. 155 
 
 ligfjt anu 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 WOULD fain enjoy the sunshine, 
 
 Yet the shadow ever falls, 
 Something dark within, without me, 
 
 Casts it on my prison walls ; 
 Then I questioned with my spirit, 
 " Wherefore is thy day so dim, 
 When God's light is all around thee, 
 And its source is all in Him?" 
 
 And my spirit maketh answer, 
 
 " Yes, God's light is all on earth, 
 Like a river brimming over 
 
 From the fountain of its birth ; 
 Spite of all man's aberrations, 
 
 Scathe and sorrow, shame and strife, 
 Like a sunlit sea it ripples 
 
 Ever up the shores of life." 
 
 Then I answered to my spirit, 
 
 " If God's light indeed be so, 
 Like a fountain in its fulness, 
 
 Like a sea-tide in its flow ! 
 Then the fault is mine, inherent 
 
 In this dark and heavy clay, 
 Kneaded up throughout my nature, 
 
 Barring thus the light of day ; 
 
 Yet the glory, unattainted, 
 
 Rests on all that round us lies, 
 
 On the lily's silver chalice, 
 
 On the rosebud's crimson dyes, 
 
156 Sacred Poems. 
 
 On the green and flashing billow 
 Bursting all in balls of light, 
 
 On the thousand diamond dewdrops 
 Weeping for the parted night." 
 
 Then resumed my spirit, " Surely 
 
 These things have their shadows too, 
 Time will dim the lily's lustre, 
 
 Turn to dust the rosebud's hue ; 
 Underneath the bright green billow 
 
 Blanch the million bones of men ; 
 Come and seek the dew at noon-day, 
 
 Will you find its sparkle then ? 
 
 Yet God's light is still around us, 
 
 Shining on with temper'd ray, 
 - Through the many mists and sorrows 
 
 That obscure His people's way. 
 And, bethink you how the Saviour 
 
 Walked in shadow all his years 
 Was He not ' with grief acquainted ? ' 
 
 Was He not a ' man of tears ?' " 
 
 Then I answered to my spirit, 
 
 " If my Master wore the gloom 
 Ere He won the glory, may I 
 
 Humbly then His part assume ; 
 Still through light and shade press onward, 
 
 With a soul serene and tender, 
 Till the golden bells of heaven 
 
 Ring me in to cloudless splendour. 
 
 * Rev. R. S. Brooke, D.D. 
 
Sacred Poems. 157 
 
 "JLoticst t&oii 
 
 LXV. 
 
 " -2TOVEST thou Me ? " To him who wailed his folly 
 *" Came these sad, searching words his heart to prove, 
 While he, from out that heart's deep melancholy, 
 
 Could only answer, " Lord, Thou know'st I love;" 
 Yet mourned he on, for memory ever kept 
 That look, which "when he thought thereon, he wept." 
 
 And yet he says " Rejoice," for strangely blent 
 Are joy and grief within us, although born 
 
 At different springs, grief from our dust is sent 
 Nature's dark dew ; while from high peaks of morn 
 
 The joy-beam falls ; and thus they stand together, 
 
 Like cloud and bow, in the heart's weeping weather. 
 
 Joy checks not human grief our Lord could weep, 
 Yet in that hour His soul rejoiced again ; 
 
 Grief dims not holy joy One "fell asleep," 
 Foretasting bliss while tasting bitterest pain ; 
 
 Yet does the heavenlier passion still prevail, 
 
 As the sweet moon shines out through mist and gale. 
 
 It is our lot, pilgrims of night, to mourn, 
 Treading this thorny life-path, wounding all ; 
 
 It is Thy love, O God, which comes to turn 
 Our tears to diamonds, sparkling as they fall : 
 
 Our darkest grief still brings Thy largest light, 
 
 As stars shine keenliest in the winter night. 
 
 Thou knowest I love, though small my love may be, 
 
 O Father, grant a fuller, freer measure, 
 That my touch'd soul may turn and say to Thee, 
 
 Thou art my all in all, my life's best treasure ; 
 
158 Sacred Poems. 
 
 So when I mix with others I may find 
 
 They have my moments only, Thou my mind. 
 
 Earth's lights die out, but Heaven's bright lamps of love 
 Burn calmly on midst mist and storm and shower : 
 
 Does the cloud darken ? Then the sun's above 
 And even at life's last throb, should that dread hour 
 
 Come fraught with fear, then sorrow is not sorrow, 
 
 So near the breaking of the eternal morrow. 
 
 * Rev. R. S. Brooke, D.D. 
 
 egjaria et 
 
 (From the Greek of Ephrem Syrus). 
 LXVI. 
 
 'S Son was born a Light arose, and darkness fled 
 from earth away ; 
 
 The world was bathed in glory, let it praise the Source which 
 shed the ray. 
 
 Forth from the Virgin's womb HE sped the shadows fled 
 
 before the light, 
 And Error, bless His mighty name ! stole off, and hid its 
 
 head in night. 
 
 The people woke to gladness, for the dawn upon their dark- 
 ness rose, 
 
 The Gentiles' light and Israel's hope burst from the Babe in 
 swaddling 'clothes. 
 
 His radiance reached the furthest East, and Persia by the 
 
 golden streams 
 Was swept along, nor dared refuse to worship at his rising 
 
 beams. 
 
Sacred Poems. 159 
 
 One star, God's special messenger, came speeding on un- 
 resting wing, 
 
 For Persia's sons to bid prepare, and hasten to adore their 
 King. 
 
 Spake the bright presence thus to them : Assyria was great, 
 
 when wise ; 
 Be wise, ye wise, and homage pay the King who in Judea 
 
 lies. 
 
 Rose Persia's learned sons and great, and tarried not to go 
 
 from thence, 
 And bore in pix and girdle, for their Lord, gold, myrrh, 
 
 and frankincense. 
 
 A lowly hut, a woman poor, a child within a manger's rim 
 Startled they find, then ope their store, and, falling down, 
 they worship HIM. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 Spake the young mother : Wherefore this ? strange both of 
 
 speech and garb are ye ; 
 Whence come ye with your mockery to this poor babe and 
 
 simple me ? , 
 
 MAGI. 
 
 They answer : This your son's a King wears many a crown 
 
 is KING OF KINGS ; 
 Higher than earth His throne His rule outlasting all 
 
 created things. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 In sooth such never happ'd before, that poverty a king 
 
 should bear ; 
 A needy woman may not hope to filiate an empire's heir. 
 
160 Sacred Poems. 
 
 MAGI. 
 
 NEVER BEFORE NOR YET AGAIN ; but NOW shall spring a 
 
 royal stem 
 From virgin lowliness to wear the universal diadem. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 No gold is mine, nor may I boast the ownership of painted 
 
 hall; 
 This home is poor and comfortless, a KING my SON how 
 
 can ye call ? 
 
 MAGI. 
 
 Thy son is Comfort, Empire, Wealth, more than enough a 
 
 world to bless ; 
 Treasures of earth will fly away ; but His will know nor loss, 
 
 nor less. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 Look in some other lordlier home the monarch ye would 
 
 now require ; 
 This pauper child of penury cannot be He whom ye desire. 
 
 MAGI. 
 
 Nay, can the light of Heaven deceive ? for Heaven's light 
 
 fell along our path ; 
 All that of power creation owns, that crib within its wicker 
 
 hath. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 An infant hushed, a matron poor, a cheerless cottage meets 
 
 your eyes ; 
 No proof of kinghood sure is here, kings would such paltry 
 
 pomp despise. 
 
Sacred Poems. 161 
 
 MAGI. 
 
 We mark the sight a sleeping Babe the lowliest of the 
 
 sons of earth, 
 Yet marshals HE the hosts of heaven that danced and sang 
 
 to hail His birth. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 It cannot be ye sure mistake or cruel are in joking strain, 
 Mocking a simple village mother ; elsewhere seek a king to 
 reign. 
 
 MAGI. 
 
 Nay, maiden mother, thou believe, for we have long believed 
 
 the lay, 
 THY SON'S A KING, a star hath said that lightened hither all 
 
 our way. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 That infant form, that uncrown'd head, that manger all un- 
 like a throne, 
 
 Oh, these bespeak no royalty, that ye this babe for King 
 should own. 
 
 MAGI. 
 
 Infant is HE because He wills, and would be hid until His 
 
 showing ; 
 Ere long earth's mightiest sons will own His sovereignty, 
 
 before Him bowing. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 No host, no legion boasteth he, no cohort his of shielded 
 
 men ; 
 His mother's poverty he shares. A King ! how may ye call 
 
 him then ? 
 
 L 
 
1 62 Sacred Poems. 
 
 MAGI. 
 
 The host thy Son doth wield 's aloft ; they ride the Heavens 
 
 they flash in flame ; 
 One silver-mailed herald-star forth summoned us from 
 
 whence we came. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 A babe just born ! how can it be infant of days, obscure, 
 
 unknown 
 My boy should rule the famed and strong that these should 
 
 bend before his throne ? 
 
 MAGI. 
 
 That Babe is old, O virgin mother ! ANCIENT OF DAYS 
 
 thine Infant is 
 Old when the world was young, and young when in its 
 
 death-fires Earth shall hiss. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 Ope these mysterious words, they make strange recollections 
 
 in my brain 
 Echoes of byegone visions. Say, what is the secret of His 
 
 reign ? 
 
 MAGI, 
 
 Or, ere we tell thee all, believe that had not truth us hither 
 
 driven, 
 We ne'er had left our fatherland in search of Him, of hope, 
 
 of heaven. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 Men of dark sayings, ease my heart, disclose this burning 
 
 mystery ; 
 Say what took place in your far land, what mission brought 
 
 you here to me ? 
 
Sacred Poems. 163 
 
 MAGI. 
 
 A star was our conductor, shining more than stars are wont 
 
 to shine ; 
 The new-born KING its light announced, and led us to this 
 
 spot divine. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 Oh, hush these tidings ! be they ne'er divulged within this 
 
 land of ours, 
 Lest the Boy's life be planned against by the conscious 
 
 ruler's envious powers. 
 
 MAGI. 
 
 Yield not to fear, O mother dear, all empire He will yet 
 
 destroy ; 
 Nor shall the wicked's wickedness have potency to hurt the 
 
 Boy. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 Herod, the ravening wolf of Edom, makes me tremble in- 
 secure, 
 
 Lest this true vine's tendril be cut off yet green and im- 
 mature. 
 
 MAGI. 
 
 Thy Boy is safe, fond mother, let not Herod's fear thy soul 
 
 appal ; 
 Sure as he reigneth now, before thy son his crown and 
 
 throne shall fall. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 Jerusalem is filled with blood, the streets are choked with 
 
 righteous dead ; 
 Ye little know the gloomy king ; respect an anxious mother's 
 
 dread. 
 
164 Sacred Poems. 
 
 MAGI. 
 
 The Boy shall stay those bloody streams, shall blunt the 
 
 sharp uplifted lance ; 
 The sword that frays Jerusalem shall not without His leave 
 
 advance. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 Were there no other foe, the Scribes and Priests would make 
 
 my deadly fear, 
 Who slay in secret. Strangers, hush ! lest subtle foes you 
 
 overhear. 
 
 MAGI. 
 
 Nor envious Scribe, nor haughty Priest, is able to invade 
 
 His peace ; 
 Cometh the hour, 'tis nearing now, when Priest and Scribe 
 
 for aye shall cease. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 Ye men of God, I hail you now; your advent wakes a 
 
 troubled joy 
 To me, like angel-tidings came, some months agone, about 
 
 the Boy. 
 
 MAGI. 
 
 The same to us, God's mighty herald came in likeness of a 
 
 star, 
 To tell of His nativity, Heaven's brightest sons exceeding 
 
 far. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 But, said the angel whom I saw, His kingdom ne'er shall 
 
 know an end, 
 And bade his poor handmaiden keep the secret, lest the tale 
 
 offend. 
 
Sacred Poems. 165 
 
 MAGI. 
 
 To us the star revealed that we the Lord of Kings should 
 
 find in Him. 
 Though bright the star, and clear the straw, we saw no form 
 
 of cherubim. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 His LORD the glorious Gabriel called Him, ere He quickened 
 
 in the womb. 
 THE HIGHEST'S SON. His fatherhood, say strangers, will 
 
 ye give to whom ? 
 
 MAGI. 
 
 Spake the bright star to us, and said : that, LORD OF 
 
 HEAVEN, Thy Son was born. 
 He ruled the jewell'd night, and His behest awoke the light 
 
 of morn. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 Receive the tidings, men of God, Heaven to you doth its 
 
 purpose show ; 
 A virgin-mother bears a son GOD'S SON proclaim it as ye 
 
 go- 
 
 MAGI. 
 
 'Tis known ! the star foretold it all that nature's laws are 
 
 here supprest, 
 And great JEHOVAH forms a son beneath a virgin-mother's 
 
 breast. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 Ye height and depth, ye stars and angels, tell the mystery of 
 
 His birth ; 
 GOD'S SON, AND LORD OF ALL is HE. Let the great secret 
 
 traverse earth. 
 
1 66 Sacred Poems.. 
 
 MAGI. 
 
 One star illumed our concave blue, sealing the truth to 
 
 Persia's land, 
 That HE was born the SON OF GOD, and all earth's sway was 
 
 in His hand. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 Peace to that land of faith be given, may peace abound upon 
 
 its coasts ! 
 Peace be with you who preach the Incarnation of the Lord 
 
 of Hosts ! 
 
 MAGI. 
 
 His peace conduct us home which brought us hitherward 
 
 right peacefully ; 
 And, when His kingdom comes, may our dear land His 
 
 power and presence see ! 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 May Persia joy at your return, Assyria its exalting share ! 
 And, when my son comes forth to reign, He'll plant His 
 conquering standard there. 
 
 Sing, grateful church; the birth of CHRIST ! Bless our 
 
 Emanuel's name again ! 
 The Light of Heaven and Earth, the mighty breaker of the 
 
 captive's chain ! 
 The Way, the Truth, the Life, the gracious gladdener of all 
 
 hearts ! Amen ! 
 
 * Rev. Orlando T. Dobbin, LL.D. 
 
Sacred Poems. 167 
 
 anD tfje 
 
 fce0j0ott 
 LXVII. 
 
 /^THROUGH mighty Nineveh 
 ^ Behold the Prophet go ; 
 His weeds of sackcloth grey, 
 
 His words, the words of woe : 
 " Woe to the minaret ! 
 
 " Woe to the tow'r and hall : 
 " Ere forty suns are set 
 
 " Proud Nineveh shall fall." 
 
 The Palace walls are high, 
 
 Ten thousand guards are round ; 
 Yet pierced that wailing cry 
 
 The inmost chamber's bound. 
 The Monarch in his pride 
 
 Waxed pale upon his throne 
 He turned to every side, 
 
 But comforter was none. 
 
 His pomp he straight laid down, 
 
 He bowed before the Lord : 
 His head with ashes strewn, 
 
 Remission he implored. 
 His subjects with him wove 
 
 The penitential prayer 
 " Unworthy of Thy love 
 
 " Yet spare, Jehovah, spare." 
 
 Then ceased the Lord to frown 
 The Prophet's task was o'er ; 
 
 Peace beamed benignly down 
 Where menaced Wrath before : 
 
1 68 Sacred Poems. 
 
 The Seer it pleased not now 
 Jehovah should relent ; 
 
 Gloom gathered on his brow, 
 He murmured discontent. 
 
 " Oh ! why should Justice fail 
 
 " Her insults to avenge ? 
 ' Or why th' Immutable 
 
 " His purpose lightly change ? 
 " God's nerveless arm and aim 
 
 " Th' ungodly will defy : 
 " And peal the false Seer's name 
 
 " In laughter to the sky." 
 
 Indignant at the thought, 
 The city's dust he spurned ; 
 
 Without the walls a spot 
 
 Of shade his eye discerned 
 
 There laid him down ; the Lord 
 
 Forgave his frenzied grief, 
 And o'er him raised a gourd 
 
 Most fair in fruit and leaf. 
 
 With morn the east wind blew 
 
 Decay was at its core ; 
 The day was still but new 
 
 The gourd's short life was o'er. 
 Unchecked the sunbeam's fire 
 
 Unscreened the Prophet's head- 
 'Twixt mingled grief and ire, 
 
 " 'Twere better die," he said. 
 
 " Frail mortal ! proud as frail." 
 Thus spake th' eternal King ; 
 
 " Shalt thou a weed bewail, 
 " Insensate, worthless thing ? 
 
Sacred Poems. 169 
 
 " And shall not God, the Lord, 
 
 " Th' immortal myriads spare, 
 " Who contritely implored 
 
 " His grace with tears and prayer ? 
 
 " That gourd no dew of thine, 
 
 " No glowing sunbeam fed ; 
 " To bid it spring was mine, 
 
 " Or rank it with the dead. 
 " Work thy capricious will 
 
 " With ought that is thine own ; 
 " The task to save or kill 
 
 " Jehovah's is alone. 
 
 " Were grace to those who spare, 
 
 " Death to the pitiless, 
 " Th' unchanging doom which ne'er 
 
 " Admits recal, redress 
 " By the stern human creed, 
 
 " Were God a man like thee 
 " Oh, where should be thy meed ? 
 
 " Oh, what should be thy plea ?" 
 
 * Rev. Orlando T. Dobbin, LLD. 
 
 King <Dtom, 
 
 A.D. 627. 
 LXVIII. 
 
 IGH sate King Edwin in his hall, 
 
 Around him ranged his wise men all 
 Queen Ethelberga by his side 
 Was pleading for the Crucified. 
 Then thus the King : " Ho, Sages, say, 
 " Shall we Paulinus hear to-day ; 
 
1 70 Sacred Poems. 
 
 11 Shall we our olden gods forsake. 
 " And Christ our only Master make ; 
 " Speak, shall we at this council-board 
 " Vow fealty to Christ as Lord ?" 
 
 Coin, chief of priests, the snows 
 Of decades on his head, uprose 
 And spake : " O King, weigh well what now 
 " Is preached to us ; for, I avow 
 " Those gods whom I have served so long 
 " Have proven false, and wrought me wrong ; 
 " Others, who served them less, I own, 
 " Are nearer to thy heart and throne. 
 " If the new doctrines are more just, 
 *' In them let us repose our trust." 
 
 Another rose, of honoured name, 
 And spake approving of the same : 
 " The present life of man, O King, 
 " Seems like a bird upon the wing : 
 " A sparrow flitting through the room 
 " Wherein you sup in winter's gloom, 
 " Statesmen and captains feasting there 
 " In the huge log-fire's ruddy glare. 
 " When storms of snow abroad prevail, 
 " In flies the bird to shun the gale 
 " By one door, and then out again 
 " By the other ; whilst he did remain 
 " Fair weather had he, safe and warm ; 
 " But soon he passed into the storm 
 " Once more, and vanished from our sight 
 " Into the dark and wintry night. 
 " Such is the soul in life, I trow, 
 " Its whence and whither none can know. 
 " If, therefore, this new doctrine hold 
 " More certain knowledge, leave the old." 
 
 Thus wisely spake the wise ; and, when 
 The words seemed pleasant to all men, 
 Paulinus by the King's command 
 Preached to the nobles of the land ; 
 And kindled in all hearts the flame 
 Of holy zeal for Christ's dear name. 
 
Sacred Poems. 171 
 
 "Who," quoth the King, "will first profane 
 
 " Altars and shrines and idols vain ?" 
 
 Whereat the priest Coifi cried : 
 
 " Arms and a horse ! I wish to ride 
 
 " Against them ; I, of old their slave, 
 
 " From my ill counsel fain would save 
 
 " My country. For this hand, now free, 
 
 " Shall set the rest at liberty." 
 
 Straightway the King's attendants brought 
 
 The arms and good steed which he sought. 
 
 He girds the sword, he grasps the spear, 
 
 And mounts the charger without fear ; 
 
 And straight to where the idols stood 
 
 He fiercely rode. The multitude 
 
 Deemed him distraught, and watched to see 
 
 The fruit of his profanity. 
 
 B.ut he rode dauntlessly anear ; 
 
 He reined his steed and hurled his spear. 
 
 The idols stupid, dumb, and grim 
 
 Stood motionless and stared at him. 
 
 Unhurt, he galloped back again, 
 
 And led the crowds with might and main 
 
 Altars and images to break 
 
 And grind to dust for Christ, His sake. 
 
 That night was painted red enow 
 
 By fires that laid the temples low. 
 
 The morning saw the priest baptized, 
 
 And Christ's salvation widely prized. 
 
 * Rev. R. W. Buckley, D.D. 
 
 listening angel 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 >JTTIS an angel of light and love 
 
 ^*^ On a mission from heaven above. 
 'Mid flight he pauseth awhile, 
 And his bright eyes wear a smile : 
 
172 Sacred Poems. 
 
 For he hears the wide welkin ring 
 
 With the harps of celestial string. 
 
 His fellows of mould immortal 
 
 Throng around the golden portal, 
 
 As, happy and young and fair, 
 
 They peer down the cloudy stair 
 
 At this speck of a world of care. 
 
 Not long doth he pause to listen, 
 
 Not long his upraised eyes glisten, 
 
 Not long doth he poise his pinions 
 
 On the marge of the sun's dominions ; 
 
 But the while the waves of sound 
 
 From the diamond walls rebound, 
 
 That the echoes may please his ear, 
 
 Now that sorrow and clouds are near ; 
 
 Not long the delay ; for to-night 
 
 He must soothe, with slumber light, 
 
 The mortal frame of a maiden lying 
 
 Lamented, despaired of, dying. 
 
 He must soothe the pillow of death, 
 
 And relieve the labour' d breath 
 
 And burden'd heart of a child of sorrow, 
 
 On whom it will dawn an endless morrow, 
 
 Amongst the redeemed in white 
 
 In the beautiful land of light. 
 
 " Oh, angel ! haste on thine embassy, 
 
 " For in her who dieth my heart doth lie ; 
 
 " And when the sad task is o'er, 
 
 "Waft her to the deathless shore." 
 
 He listens no more, but departs 
 
 To the circle of breaking hearts ; 
 
 Like falling dew his presence they feel, 
 
 Who around the bedside kneel, 
 
 And he ministers there as he stands. 
 
 With the gentlest and softest of hands, 
 
 Until the last breath is drawn 
 
 In the hush of the chilly dawn. 
 
 * Rev. R. W. Buckley, D.D. 
 
Sacred Poems. 173 
 
 in 
 
 LXX. 
 
 2f S when a seeker findeth 
 
 * The gem most rare and bright ; 
 
 As when the warrior, brave and bold, 
 
 Wins banners in the fight ; 
 So joy'd angelic messengers 
 
 From earth, far off and dim, 
 Returned to the skies, with nobler prize, 
 
 Shouting their seraph-hymn. 
 
 Triumphant, from the spot where blood 
 
 First stained the young earth's sod, 
 They bore the soul of martyr'd saint 
 
 To heaven, and home, and God : 
 And ere the clay was sepulchred, 
 
 And ere a mourner wept, 
 Through heaven's gate, in royal state, 
 
 The angel-convoy swept. 
 
 Hail, first arrived in glory ! 
 
 Thy welcome angels sing ; 
 Thy martyr-brow is diademed 
 
 By thy Redeemer King : 
 In heaven thou art a wonder, 
 
 A novel sight to see : 
 Thron'd seraphs gaze, in rapt amaze, 
 
 On thee, saved soul, on thee ! 
 
 Hark ! hark ! the stranger spirit 
 
 Uplifts the voice of praise ; 
 Whilst wondering heaven lists, well pleased, 
 
 To those entrancing lays. 
 
174 Sacred Poems. 
 
 The new song that he singeth 
 His voice alone can sing : 
 
 " He loved me, and He washed me, 
 And made me priest and king." 
 
 As when a thousand choristers 
 
 Have stayed the flow of song, 
 That one sweet warbling voice might pour 
 
 Its music on the throng ; 
 As when the songsters of the grove 
 
 Are hushed at evening's fall, 
 The nightingale alone is heard, 
 
 The sweetest of them all : 
 
 As when the chimes of ocean 
 
 Have settled into calm, 
 And stealing o'er the water comes 
 
 The sailor's vesper-psalm ; 
 So harps and voices all were hushed, 
 
 And seraph-bands were stilled, 
 As Abel's song the raptur'd throng 
 
 Of list'ning angels thrilled. 
 
 That solitary singer 
 
 Sings now in a mighty band ; 
 For thousand thousands since have joined, 
 
 From every age and land. 
 Oh, may we swell the minstrelsy 
 
 With which vast heaven rings : 
 " He' loved us, and He washed us, 
 
 And made us priests and kings." 
 
 Rev. Thomas M^Cullagh, W.M. 
 
Sacred Poems. 175 
 
 990000 on 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 7f7[|ITH bold and tireless footsteps 
 ***** By precipice and scar, 
 He climbed the steep Abarim, 
 
 And Nebo's range afar, 
 Till the grey crest of Pisgah 
 
 The grand old Prophet bore ; 
 His heart as warm, as strong his arm, 
 
 As a hundred years before. 
 
 His eagle-eye as piercing 
 
 As when, in youthful days, 
 O'er the strange old lore of Egypt 
 
 It burned with ardent blaze : 
 And to that eye of lightning 
 
 God showed the promised land, 
 In all its worth, from South to North- 
 
 From East to the utmost strand. 
 
 Lebanon's goodly mountain 
 
 The old man joyed to view; 
 And Bashan, too, with its oak-wreath 'd crown, 
 
 And Carmel's fading blue ; 
 And Gilead, and Tabor, 
 
 And Olivet's fair green ; 
 And Zion's hill, with rapture's thrill, 
 
 And Calvary, were seen. 
 
 All pleasant were the valleys 
 O'er which his vision rolled ; 
 
 Achor, with all its lowing herds, 
 And Sharon's verdant fold ; 
 
176 Sacred Poems. 
 
 Jezreel showed its vineyards ; 
 
 Jehoshaphat its stream ; 
 And Eschol's vale, and Shaveh's dale, 
 
 Looked like a Prophet's dream. 
 
 The land of brooks and fountains 
 
 Lay 'neath the Seer's glance ; 
 He saw the Arnon gambol ; 
 
 He saw the Jabbok dance ; 
 The ancient river Kishon 
 
 Swept on in wrathful force ; 
 And the Kidron mild, like a playing child, 
 
 Laughed in its flowery course ; 
 
 The Dead Sea and Gennesaret, 
 
 Like gems on a stately King, 
 Were joined on Canaan's royal robe 
 
 By Jordan's pearly string ; 
 And the mantle green of the beauteous Queen 
 
 With many a jewel beamed ; 
 For the distant rills amongst the hills 
 
 Like threads of silver seemed. 
 
 Oh, who can tell the rapture 
 
 That fired the Prophet's breast, 
 As, afar, he saw where The Oath was sworn 
 
 To his forefathers blest ! 
 Old Mamre's plain and Sichem ; 
 
 Bethel, by angels trod ; 
 And Gerar, too, where the promise true 
 
 Was ratified by God. 
 
 But, alas ! the princely quarry, 
 Which Death pursued so long, 
 
 Upon the brow of Nebo 
 
 Is struck by the archer strong ! 
 
Sacred Poems. 177 
 
 The eagle-eye grows strangely dim, 
 
 The beauteous landscape's fled ; 
 And a funeral band of angels stand 
 
 Around the kingly dead ! 
 
 He must not cross the Jordan, 
 
 Nor dwell in the goodly land ; 
 But a better country welcomes him 
 
 To the glorious Prophet-band : 
 Not cedar trees, but trees of life 
 
 For ever flourish here ; 
 Not Jordan's rush, but rivers gush 
 
 With living waters clear. 
 
 Thus, oft the God of Moses 
 
 With sorrow bows the head ; 
 For which He gems a crown of life, 
 
 To crown the faithful dead 
 Thus, oft refuses earthly bliss, 
 
 While higher bliss is given ; 
 Denies us health, and denies us wealth, 
 
 But bids us enter heaven. 
 
 Rev. Thomas M'Cullagh, W.M. 
 
 Emgtiom, tfte potoer, ant) tfje 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 'JF'HINE, Father ! is the kingdom ; 
 ^^ This truth no heart can doubt, 
 Thy presence when we feel within, 
 And see Thy works without : 
 
 Thine are the earth and ocean, 
 Thine are the day and night : 
 
 Thou movest in the moving heavens, 
 And shinest in the light ; 
 
 M 
 
Sacred Poems. 
 
 And Thine the voice of wisdom 
 That speaks within the breast, 
 
 And giveth guidance to the strong, 
 And to the weary rest. 
 
 And Thine the power, O Father ! 
 The power we feel and see 
 
 The powers of nature and of mind-- 
 Have all their source in Thee : 
 
 Thine are the rain and sunshine, 
 And Thine the lightning's blaze : 
 
 Thine is the power that glows in life, 
 And Thine the power that slays ; 
 
 And Thine the power, O Saviour ! 
 
 Which can alone be made 
 Perfect in weakness ; Thine the strength 
 
 Whereon the souls are stayed 
 
 Of heroes and of martyrs ; 
 
 The power is Thine to free 
 From fear and sin, and over death 
 
 To give the victory. 
 
 But where, O Lord, Thy glory ? 
 
 Thy kingdom's brightness, where ? 
 In clouded skies and stormy seas, 
 
 In hardly answered prayer, 
 
 In stars that burn to ashes, 
 In life that ends in dust, 
 
 Oh, must we seek Thy glory there, 
 Thou merciful and just ? 
 
Sacred Poems. 179 
 
 It is not so. Thy glory, 
 
 O Father, must have shined 
 Where'er Thy power and kingdom are : 
 
 It is that we are blind. 
 
 We see but gleams and flashes 
 From a hidden brightness dart; 
 
 Oh, give us eyes to see Thee, Lord, 
 In glory as Thou art ! 
 
 But are not gleams and flashes 
 Enough for such as we ? 
 
 The full unveiling of Thy face 
 No mortal eye may see; 
 
 And is it not sufficient 
 
 For us, if we behold 
 Thy brightness where the sunbeams shine, 
 
 And where the stars are rolled ; 
 
 And if we see Thy glory 
 
 Reflected in the face 
 Of those who live in Thee, and die 
 
 Triumphant in Thy grace ? 
 
 Were I to hear Thee saying, 
 " Servant of God, well done ! 
 
 Thy work is proved, thy sins forgiven, 
 Thy battle fought and won ; 
 
 " The harvest of thy sowing 
 The time to come shall reap ; 
 
 Now lay thee down in perfect peace 
 For everlasting sleep ;" 
 
 M 2 
 
180 Sacred Poems. 
 
 So great would be the blessing " 
 
 I could not ask for more ; 
 No wish nor prayer my lips could frame 
 
 I only could adore. 
 
 But more than this we hope for : 
 
 And what we long for most 
 Is not to join the adoring song 
 
 On heaven's eternal coast ; 
 
 And not to meet the loved ones 
 
 Assembled round Thy throne ; 
 What most we long for, Lord, is this 
 
 To know as we are known ; 
 
 To gaze upon Thy glory 
 
 With face to face, and live : 
 For this includes all blessings, Lord, 
 
 Which even Thou canst give. 
 
 * Joseph John Murphy. 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 HAVE ere now been half inclined 
 To wish the present life were all ; 
 That death upon the soul might fall, 
 And darkness overwhelm the mind; 
 
 Not that I envied then the beast 
 Which never thinks of good and ill, 
 And only cares to eat his fill 
 
 At mighty Nature's bounteous feast ; 
 
Sacred Poems. 181 
 
 But, that our motives might be pure, 
 And free our choice, and clear our way, 
 The law of conscience to obey, 
 
 Whether to act or to endure ; 
 
 To fight with sin, without regard 
 To conquests in the battle won ; 
 To say at last, " My work is done : 
 
 I die, and seek for no reward." 
 
 And yet I know 'tis better far 
 
 That faith sbould look beyond the grave 
 On Him who died the world to save, 
 
 And rose to be the polar star, 
 
 For ever, of our hope and love ; 
 
 To guide us on, through death and night, 
 To realms of deathless life and light- 
 To mansions of the blest above. 
 
 I know 'tis well to trust the Power 
 
 Who makes the buried seeds to bloom, 
 That He will raise me from the tomb, 
 
 As summer's breath awakes a flower ; 
 
 To take a child upon my knee, 
 Or lay what was my friend in dust, 
 And feel a reverential trust 
 
 That He who made them both to be 
 
 Who gives us death as well as birth, 
 And maketh children grow to men 
 Will give us other life again, 
 
 More blessed than the life on earth. 
 
 * Joseph John Murphy. 
 
1 82 Sacred Poems. 
 
 an 3[ncitient on tfte mituera, 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 J1JNDER an aged olive, by the sea, 
 
 ^* A charcoal fire, and fish thereon, and bread 
 
 For there a fisher crew their meal had spread 
 
 I saw ; and as I saw, to Galilee 
 
 My thoughts were borne, and to the beach where said 
 
 The Saviour to the Apostle, Lovs't thou Me ? 
 
 I could not speak like Peter, but, instead, 
 
 I felt mine eyes with silent tears grow dim, 
 
 To think how weak and faint my love for Him. 
 
 Yet I have served Him for a length of years ; 
 I would not hide one secret from His sight ; 
 And yet I have not done with doubts and fears ; 
 My path is but a darkness crossed with light, 
 And Heaven most like a clouded heaven appears ; 
 His joy by flashes only have I gained, 
 His constant peace I never have attained. 
 
 And so it was with Peter and the rest. 
 They knew that He who died was raised again, 
 But knew not of the blessings they possessed, 
 And spread the net once more, their food to gain, 
 And all the night they spread the net in vain ; 
 But when the morning glowed upon the lake, 
 The Saviour stood upon the shore, and spake. 
 
 And unto me He spake, that summer day, 
 Under the olives, on Liguria's shore. 
 And though I made no answer, He will stay. 
 He stands beside me when I cannot pray, 
 He follows me and finds me when I stray, 
 And leads me back to bless Him and adore. 
 
Sacred Poems. 183 
 
 The pure in heart shall see Thee and be blest. 
 But am I pure ? I know not ; but I know 
 It is Thy will, my God, to make me so, 
 And in that knowledge I can safely rest ; 
 And I rejoice to think that in my breast 
 There's not a thought or wish but long ago 
 Was known, my Saviour and my Judge ! to Thee, 
 Before Thy hand in secret fashioned me. 
 
 Therefore, I pray Thee, search and try my heart, 
 And lead me in the everlasting way, 
 And free me from my sin against the day 
 When I shall see Thee, Saviour ! as Thou art. 
 
 * Joseph John Murphy. 
 
 C6e 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 TfTTJITHIN His House the God of Love 
 ***"l Hath many rooms to show ; 
 Some mansions are prepared above, 
 And some below. 
 
 The Saints below have not to wait, 
 Their Heaven begins on earth ; 
 Tis entered by the Portal-Gate 
 Of Second-Birth. 
 
 And in that House there dwelleth One 
 
 To Whom all power is given ; 
 The Father's well beloved Son 
 He rules in Heaven. 
 
184 Sacred Poems. 
 
 Each room and door and key He knows, 
 
 The House is all His own. 
 'Tis His to open, His to close 
 Yea, His alone ! 
 
 Lo ! at the Mercy-Gate He stands 
 
 The Very Christ who died ; 
 Behold His brow, His pierced hands, 
 His wounded side ! 
 
 " Come to the Father's House," He cries- 
 
 " Confess to Him thy sin ; 
 The Door of Pardon open lies, 
 Come, enter in ! 
 
 " The far-off country leave behind 
 
 Where thou hast dared to roam ; 
 Oh, come within, and thou shalt find 
 At last thy Home." 
 
 Oh happy they whom Jesus calls, 
 
 And who His call obey, 
 They come within the Heavenly walls, 
 Thrice happy day ! 
 
 And each unto his room is led 
 By Him who holds the Key ; 
 "Come in," He saith, "for thee I bled- 
 Work thou for Me. 
 
 " Behold the door is open wide ! 
 
 The day is not yet gone 
 Make haste the workless eventide. 
 Is stealing on." 
 
Sacred Poems. 185 
 
 Oh happy they whom Jesus tells 
 
 To work for Him and pray, 
 With them His presence ever dwells 
 Through life's long day ! 
 
 And when the day of work is o'er, 
 
 Then unto each He saith 
 " Come, I must bring thee to the door 
 That men call Death. 
 
 " 'Tis time the room of toil to leave, 
 
 And seek that place of rest, 
 Where waits the Father to receive 
 His weary guest. 
 
 "It is no place of outer gloom, 
 
 Within the Home it lies ; 
 'Tis but the further, better room 
 Of Paradise. 
 
 " And I the Holy One and True 
 
 Who liveth, and was dead 
 I have the Keys, I have been through, 
 What dost thou dread ? 
 
 " When I did rest from work and care, 
 
 There did my spirit flee ; 
 The contrite thief was welcomed there 
 That day by Me. 
 
 " And all the saints who faithful die, 
 
 There safe with me abide. 
 Why dost thou fear to go, when I 
 Am by thy side ?" 
 
1 86 Sacred Poems. 
 
 Oh happy they whom Christ is near. 
 When at deaths door they stand : 
 The room beyond they need not fear 
 Who hold His hand ! 
 
 And when on Resurrection-day 
 
 The ransom'd meet at last ; 
 Death feared no more, tears wiped away, 
 And judgment past. 
 
 Then shall be heard once more His call- 
 
 " Come, blessed children, see 
 The best of rooms reserved for all 
 Who follow Me ! 
 
 " No pardon there shall ye require, 
 
 For ye no more shall sin ; 
 And though ye work ye shall not tire- 
 Come, enter in ! 
 
 " Behold the door is open Come ! 
 
 Soon must I close the gate ; 
 Come ere the feast begin, for some 
 Will knock too late." 
 
 Oh happy they who find a place 
 
 While open lies the door 
 With those who see the Master's face 
 For evermore ! 
 
 O great Key-bearer, grant that we, 
 
 Within Thy home above, 
 May praise through ait eternity 
 
 Thy wondrous love ! Amen. 
 
 * Lord Plunket, Bishop of Meath. 
 
Sacred Poems. 187 
 
 Sent tottl) an 8utoerapi) of 223orti0toorti)* 
 LXXVI. 
 
 WO lines bright issues of undying mind, 
 
 Two deep-souled lines to thee and Nature dear,* 
 A name immortal by the Immortal signed, 
 Traced by his own enchanted pen are here \ 
 
 Hung o'er the page that brow magnificent, 
 Shrine for its mighty inmate fitly wrought I 
 
 O'er it those visionary eyes were bent, 
 
 That gaze, slow-wandering through the deep of Thought. 
 
 Mightiest of all the laurelled lineage high, 
 He sate, as when in Fancy's golden gleam, 
 
 He saw deep visions by the " sylvan Wye,"t 
 Or drew his childhood's bright Platonic dream. j 
 
 A vesper light was there a light to lend 
 To Age a genial tint, a kindred ray ; 
 
 And Nature harmonized the hour, to blend 
 Her glories with the sunset of his day I 
 
 The brighter noontide hours in converse grave 
 
 And high, had passed with him, our glorious guest ; 
 
 Winander fondling still with playful wave 
 The faery barque that rocked her poet's rest. 
 
 : *' To me the meanest flower," &c. 
 t The poem written near Tintern Abbey. 
 The Ode on the Intimations of Immortality. 
 We had been sailing on Windermere part of the day, July 26, 1844. 
 
1 88 Sacred Poems. 
 
 He taught how men may rise to soul through sense 
 Of that diviner vision, which can see 
 
 Symbols in narrow space of God's immense, 
 Shadows in time of God's eternity : 
 
 Of man the sorrows humble souls endure, 
 
 The one great Heart that beats in all who move 
 
 O'er earth, the peaceful glories of the poor, 
 And all the meek sublime of human love. 
 
 He taught of mysteries hid in fields and flowers, 
 Of marvels that in Nature's lone haunts dwell ; 
 
 He spoke as Thou, whose not unhappiest hours 
 Have learned his lore, can thence far better tell. 
 
 But Thou, whose spirit serene of maiden youth, 
 So brightly calm, so beautifully wise, 
 
 Loving all loveliness, yet sees in truth 
 A glory richer than all fancy's dyes : 
 
 Thou, when the glistening eye and beating heart, 
 
 Attest for thine the true poetic thrill, 
 And speak the Mighty Master's matchless art 
 
 Wilt breathe a want, wilt yearn for something still ! 
 
 New-born to Him who bore the cross's shame, 
 No joy is joyous, be but He forgot ; 
 
 We dare not rest beneath a lower name, 
 
 Or own aught perfect where the Cross is not. 
 
 Our wisdom's but to know His wisdom's worth, 
 To feel all light beside His lustre dim ; 
 
 Cold to all beauty save what shadows forth 
 The one sole central Beauty, shrined in Him ! 
 
Sacred Poems. 189 
 
 To win an hour from sense, by finer touch 
 Of sympathy to wake the better mind, 
 
 This is not nothing, but it is not much 
 Alas ! the world is world, howe'er refined. 
 
 No the stern lessons, self-hate, self-control, 
 The dark of Nature in its Lord made bright 
 
 These can alone unbind the pinioned soul, 
 
 And flood the enfranchised heart with love and light. 
 
 Creation's mightiest marvels twinkle weak 
 
 Beside that solar glory Sin forgiven ; 
 Mount Alp on Alp the topmost glittering peak, 
 
 But clearer shows the infinite height of Heaven ! 
 
 W. Archer Butler. 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 WORLD ! thou hoary monster, whose old age 
 Is gray in guilt ! How purer and more fair 
 The freshness of thine infancy to share ! 
 The primal records of the holy page 
 Tell how, amid thy morn, the Form of God 
 Lighted the valleys of our vernal earth 
 A parent, with the children of His birth 
 And smiled to dark the sunshine, as He trod ! 
 Tending their flocks among the quiet hills 
 
 And shadowed waters of their orient clime, 
 The men of majesty, in early time, 
 Bore heaven upon their brow 1 Alas ! it chills 
 The soul, to mark the God-given spirit's course, 
 Beam of the Eternal Sun, dissevered from its source ! 
 
190 Sacred Poems. 
 
 Mature ant) tf?e Cpuman 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 How vast the little infinite,* where march 
 
 The last far heavens in all-surrounding round, 
 Where on and on, beyond the lowly arch 
 
 Of inner worlds, God's mighty work is crown'd. 
 For, still untired, creative energy 
 
 Scattering new life, where only thought can soar, 
 Planting his standards through immensity, 
 
 Builds temples still, and beings to adore : 
 Yet is one MIND the pauper-peasant's mind 
 
 Reason's invisible chamber more sublime 
 Than all that scene material, whose array 
 
 Throngs endless space ; more vast and unconfined 
 Than aught (save endless Space itself and Time, 
 
 Nature's twin lords) one soul that stoops to live 
 one day ! 
 
 W. Archer Butler. 
 
 Dn a CfrilD in t&e College 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 |N yester-eve I saw at play 
 
 A child 'twas Fancy's precious prize 
 The lovely light of gladness lay 
 
 Couched softly in his gleaming eyes. 
 Come gaze on me, my pretty child, 
 And smile again as thou hast smiled : 
 Such happiness alive in thee 
 Makes me a child again to see ! 
 
 What dost thou in our " learned bowers " ? 
 
 Heads may be wise where hearts are breaking 
 And happier science thine than ours, 
 
 For thou hast found what we are seeking ! 
 
 * Finitus et infinite similis. 
 
Sacred Poems. 191 
 
 Ah, would our midnight lamp could bless 
 Us with thine art of happiness ! 
 Ah, would its care and toil of thought 
 Could teach what thou hast learned untaught ! 
 
 Alone among the flowers he lies, 
 
 As fair as they, as coyly wild 
 " To droop above thy vernal eyes 
 
 I'll set them in thy bonnet, child ! " 
 A painful throb is in my heart, 
 I will not bid it to depart ; 
 I never knew what 'twas to grieve 
 With pleasure, till I saw this eve. 
 
 The primrose flower of life is here, 
 
 The rapturous promise of its spring ; 
 Time touches it with gentle fear 
 
 To harshly touch so soft a thing. 
 So bright a flower was never set 
 In Flora's fading coronet ; 
 " Alas ! must thou, too, fade, my child ? "- 
 The boy looked up at me and smiled. 
 
 Sweet spirit newly come from heaven, 
 
 With all the God upon thee still, 
 Beams of no earthly light are given 
 
 Thy heart even yet to bless and fill. 
 Thy soul, a sky whose sun has set, 
 Wears glory hovering round it yet ; 
 And childhood's eve glows sadly bright 
 Ere life hath deepened into night I 
 
 >omtet, 
 Which may illustrate the last Stanza of the preceding Poem. 
 
 , whose meek eyes are bending o'er my page ! 
 Hast thou not sometimes felt a thrilling sense 
 As if our life were but a second stage 
 Of elder being ? Dreams dim dreams from thence 
 
192 Sacred Poems. 
 
 Rise often on our thoughts, like thoughts of home 
 
 Crushing the spirit of the wanderer lost 
 
 In the drear desert. Oh, for a glimpse to come 
 
 Across the soul, of that most blessed coast 
 
 Whose banks we left to sail the stormy ocean 
 
 That wrecked us upon earth ! Oft oft it seems 
 
 In our bright hours, the angel thoughts whose motion 
 
 Darts meteor-like athwart the brain, are gleams 
 
 From our lost heaven ! Sons of Eternity, 
 
 Though here the wards of fleeting Time, are we. 
 
 W. Archer Butltr. 
 
 t&e GJnfcnoton 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 STOOD beside the margin of a sea, 
 
 If sea it were, where neither wind nor wave 
 Its surface stirred, all leaden-like and still, 
 As molten cloud whereon no gleam was shed 
 From light of sun or moon or distant star. 
 
 Silence reigned sovereign o'er the vast abyss 
 Outstretched as far as eye or thought could reach, 
 Whose depth in vain might sounding-line explore 
 Unknown and fathomless. No night and day 
 Alternate came, where all was void and dark ; 
 Save that, scarce visible, distant and dim, 
 A quivering ray, as from some outer sphere, 
 Gleamed vision-like above the drear expanse. 
 
 Here, as I stood and gazed, methought a sound, 
 Like echo wafted from a distant world, 
 Fell on my ear with strange entrancing power. 
 No spoken word, no utterance it was 
 Such as on earth reaches the listener ; 
 Yet to the very inmost soul it spake 
 With meaning most intense, as in that realm 
 Where spirits disembodied converse hold. 
 
Sacred Poems. 193 
 
 I turned, and by my side there seemed to stand 
 A form like those which pass at eventide 
 Cloud-wrought, dark marshalled, moving overhead, 
 Like travellers gliding on their darksome way, 
 Along the pathway of the western sky. 
 Was this, then, Dreamland? all thus seen and heard? 
 Was it a vision of the night ? I knew not ; 
 But words unutterable seemed to reach 
 Both heart and ear, while he who spake stood nigh, 
 Shrouded in veil of gloom and mystery. 
 
 A plaint I heard, a plaint which wailing told 
 Of a life spent in hot though vain pursuit 
 Of happiness, of glory, wisdom, all 
 That earth calls gain. And sadly, too, it told 
 Of broken vows, vain warnings, idols throned 
 Where ONE alone should reign. Such the lament, 
 And evermore a voice appeared to utter 
 "Too late !" 
 
 And then, methought I overheard 
 What seemed a prayer, low uttered, earnest, faint, 
 As from a heart deep-rent with doubt and dread, 
 For mercy, pity for one guiding ray 
 Amidst the " darkness visible," to light 
 The strange wayfarer by that unknown deep ! 
 
 Awful it is to hear the thunder-peal 
 Roll amid Alpine heights from cliff to cliff, 
 From chasm to chasm, lit by the vivid gleam 
 Of lightning flash. But yet more awful still, 
 To stand entombed in depth of night like this, 
 And hear the spirit-wail that then I heard. 
 
 That prayer seemed but to reach the laden air 
 Which brooded o'er the abyss. Could human heart 
 Hear, and not inly pray it might be heard 
 By Him, whose arm omnipotent can reach, 
 Whose ever-open ear can hearken to 
 The sufferer whelmed in sorrow's wildest wave, 
 The sigh sent forth from deepest depth of woe ? 
 
 Silent a prayer I breathed, then bent my view 
 Across the void, and lo ! beheld a form 
 Dim in the distance where at first appeared 
 
 N 
 
194 Sacred Poems. 
 
 That struggling gleam. It shone as shines the light 
 Which in far Polar regions cheers the eye 
 Of ice-bound mariner, when sun and moon 
 Are buried 'neath the horizon. Thus it seemed, 
 But whether distant cloud, or spirit clothed 
 With cloud-like garb, I knew not. Still methought 
 It grew in shadowy radiance and drew near, 
 While o'er the surface of the misty deep 
 A brightness dawned, such as at morning-tide 
 Gladdens the eye of watcher through the night. 
 In fashion as a man that form next showed, 
 But man so glorious that the countenance 
 Beamed with the cloudless light of Deity. 
 ' A crown the brow adorned, so passing bright, 
 That shrouded seemed each feature. Where a hand 
 Was raised, as though to bless, athwart the sky, 
 Like glowing meteor, more than diamond bright, 
 A shape appeared like that which legends say 
 Shone o'er the Caesar's path as forth he went 
 To war, and bade him triumph in the Cross. 
 Thus o'er the void appeared that form divine ; 
 While in each outspread palm glistened a wound 
 Deep sunken, and of ruby hue. The feet 
 Of Him who o'er the trackless waste drew nigh, 
 Seemed also pierced with wounds, and underneath 
 A billowy path of surging cloud was rolled, 
 Purple and golden, such as marks the way 
 Of autumn-sun low sinking in the west. 
 
 As upward turned my gaze, a gentle wind, 
 Such as at spring-tide breathes o'er opening flowers, 
 Stole o'er my brow; and, kneeling by the marge 
 Of that still sea, late dark, but lightened now 
 With heaven's own rays, I saw a figure bent 
 Low at the feet of Him whose presence shed 
 Joy's radiance round. Hidden the shrouded face 
 Within close-folded hands, while scarcely breathed 
 I heard" Oh, Christ ! thou art the Son of God ! " 
 
 * Canon Maellwaine. 
 
andi 
 
 Hymn of the Ancient Irish Church, from the Anti- 
 phonarium Benchorense, preserved in the Ambrosian 
 Library, Milan. 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 RAW nigh, ye holy ones, draw nigh, 
 And take the body of the Lord ; 
 And drink the sacred blood outpoured, 
 
 By which, redeemed, ye shall not die. 
 
 O saved from justice and the rod 
 By this divinest flesh and blood, 
 By these made strong, in grateful mood 
 
 Give thanks and praises unto God. 
 
 By this (Oh ! blessed news to tell !) 
 This sacrament of flesh and blood, 
 Have all been rescued from the flood- 
 
 The flood of death the jaws of hell. 
 
 The giver of salvation, HE, 
 
 The Christ, the Son of God above, 
 Restored unto his Father's love 
 
 The world, by blood and by the tree. 
 
 N 2 
 
196 Hymns. 
 
 From north to south, from west to east, 
 For all, the sacrifice is given 
 For all is slain the Lord of Heaven 
 
 Himself the Offering and the Priest. 
 
 Read well the story through and through 
 Of victims bleeding at the shrine, 
 Types of a mystery more divine, 
 
 And shadows of a truth more true. 
 
 The liberal Giver of all light, 
 
 The Saviour of the human race, 
 
 A special glory and a grace 
 Doth give His saints who fear His might. 
 
 Approach ye all with fond and pure 
 
 Believing hearts, and for His sake 
 
 The gage of your salvation take, 
 Your souls physician, and its cure. 
 
 The guardian of the saints, the Lord, 
 
 By whom ye move, and breathe, and live, 
 Eternal life doth largely give 
 
 To those believing in His word. 
 
 The bread of heaven He doth bestow 
 
 On hungry souls about to sink ; 
 
 The thirsty He permits to drink 
 From out a living fountain's flow. 
 
 The source and stream the first and. last 
 Even Christ, the Lord who died for men, 
 Now comes ; but He will come again 
 
 To judge the world when time hath passed. 
 
 * Denis Florence MacCarthy. 
 
Hymns. 197 
 
 iU, (Mi, ptbtat JUtto. 
 
 Hymn of the Fifteenth Century. 
 LXXXII. 
 
 EAVEN, ring with rapture, 
 
 Laugh, lightest ether, 
 Earth, be thou joyful, 
 Summit and centre ; 
 Storm winds are silent, 
 Black clouds have vanished, 
 By the boughs shaken, 
 Young buds awaken. 
 
 Spring from your slumber, 
 Flowers without number ; 
 Seeds, rise and cover 
 All the fields over ; 
 Paint them with pansies, 
 Mingle with roses, 
 Lily, carnation, 
 In sweet alternation. 
 
 Lute, loudly thrilling, 
 Prove thou art willing ; 
 Song, with thy metre, 
 Ever sing sweeter : 
 Christ has arisen 
 Up from his prison, 
 Death's spell is broken, 
 As He hath spoken. 
 
 Praise Him, ye mountains, 
 Warble, ye fountains, 
 Hills, give Him greeting, 
 Valleys, repeating : 
 Christ has arisen 
 Up from His prison, 
 Death's spell is broken, 
 As He hath spoken. 
 
 * Denis Florence MacCarthy. 
 
198 Hymns. 
 
 lent, anxte piriim 
 
 BY KING ROBERT OF FRANCE, A.D. 1031. 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 , Holy Ghost, and from on high, 
 " Through our sin-o'ershadow'd sky, 
 Rays of Thy pure radiance dart ; 
 
 Come, Thou Father of the poor, 
 Come with gifts that cleanse and cure ; 
 Come, Thou Light of every heart. 
 
 Best consoler, sweetest guest, 
 That the soul hath e'er possessed ; 
 Fountain of all pure delight. 
 
 In our toils refreshment sweet, 
 Coolness in the summer's heat, 
 Solace in our tearful plight ; 
 
 O Thou blessed Light divine ! 
 Fill the inner hearts of Thine, 
 Overflow each faithful soul. 
 
 Ah ! without Thy saving light, 
 Nothing is in man aright, 
 Nothing free from sin's control. 
 
 Wash what in us is unclean ; 
 Water, and our dry make green ; 
 Heal the wounds that none behold ; 
 
 Bend our stiffness to Thy way, 
 Guide what in us is astray, 
 Warm what in us is too cold. 
 
Hymns. 199 
 
 Ah ! unworthy though we be, 
 Upon those who trust in Thee 
 Let Thy sevenfold gifts alight ; 
 
 Give us Virtue's sweet reward, 
 Give a happy death, O Lord ! 
 Give us Thy eternal Light. 
 
 Denis Florence MacCarthy. 
 
 >ta&at abater Dolorosa, 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 the mournful Mother weeping, 
 By the Cross her vigil keeping, 
 While her Jesus hung thereon : 
 Through her heart, in sorrow moaning, 
 With Him grieving, for Him groaning, 
 Through that heart the sword hath gone. 
 
 Oh how sad and sore distressed 
 Was she the for-ever blessed 
 
 Mother of the UndefiTd ! 
 She who wept, and mourned, and trembled, 
 When she saw such pains assembled 
 
 Round about the Holy Child. 
 
 Who that sees Christ's Mother bending 
 'Neath His load of sorrow, rending 
 
 Her sad soul in woe so deep ; 
 Who that sees that Pious Mother 
 With Him weeping, could do other 
 
 Than, himself afflicted, weep ? 
 
200 Hymns. 
 
 For the sins of each offender, 
 Sinless Soul, and Body tender, 
 
 Sees she 'neath the cruel rod : 
 See her own sweet Son, her only, 
 Dying, desolate, and lonely, 
 
 Pouring out His Soul to God. 
 
 Jesu ! Fount of Love ! Thee loving, 
 And my soul Thy sorrow moving, 
 
 Make me watch and weep with Thee : 
 As my God and Christ Thee knowing, 
 Let my loving heart be glowing 
 
 With a Holy Sympathy. 
 
 Holy Father ! let affliction 
 For Thy dear Son's crucifixion 
 
 Pierce my heart : and grant this prayer, 
 That while He for me was wounded, 
 With indignities surrounded, 
 
 I His cup of grief may share. 
 
 Make me truly weep, and never 
 From the Crucified me sever, 
 
 Long as I on earth remain : 
 By the Cross of Jesus keeping 
 With His Mother watch of weeping, 
 
 Sharing with her pain for pain. 
 
 God of Saints ! Thou King most holy ! 
 Comforter of spirits lowly ! 
 
 Fill me with my Saviour's grief; 
 That, His death devoutly bearing, 
 And His bitter passion sharing, 
 
 I may bring Him some relief. 
 
 Make me with His stripes be stricken, 
 With the Cross my spirit quicken, 
 For the love of Christ, I pray : 
 
Hymns. 201 
 
 That with love inflamed, attended, 
 I by love may be defended 
 In the awful Judgment Day. 
 
 By the Cross for ever guarded, 
 
 And, through Christ's dear dying, warded 
 
 By the Grace that never dies ; 
 When my mortal body, dying, 
 In the quiet grave is lying, 
 
 Take my soul to Paradise ; 
 
 To adore 
 Thee, my God ! for evermore. 
 
 Amen. 
 
 Rev. J. S. B. Monsell, LL.D. 
 
 H3oli, Pater, 3|ntwlgere Conitrui cum 
 
 S. COLUMBA. 
 LXXXV. 
 
 BATHER, keep under 
 
 J' The tempest and thunder, 
 
 Lest we should be shattered 
 
 By Thy lightning's shafts scattered. 
 
 Thy terrors while fearing, 
 
 We listen still hearing 
 
 The resonant song 
 
 Of the bright angel throng, 
 
 As they wander and praise Thee, 
 
 Shouts of honour still raise Thee. 
 
 To the King ruling right, 
 
 Jesu, lover and light, 
 
2O2 Hymns. 
 
 As with wine and clear mead, 
 
 Filled with God's grace indeed, 
 
 Precursor John Baptist's word, 
 
 Told of the coming Lord, 
 
 Whom, blessed for evermore, 
 
 All men should bow before. 
 
 Zacharias, Elizabeth, 
 
 This Saint begot. 
 
 May the fire of thy love live in my heart yet, 
 
 As jewel of gold in a silver vase set ! 
 
 * Mary F. Cusack. 
 
 3[n te C&riste, 
 
 S. COLUMBA. 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 4fT HOU who all men dost relieve, 
 ^ Christ in Thee I do believe, 
 Come unto my aid, O Lord, 
 While I labour for Thy word ; 
 
 Hasten to my help, I pray, 
 
 Bear my burden every day. 
 
 Of all mankind the maker Thou, 
 
 Before Thy throne our Judge we bow. 
 
 O Lord of lords and King of kings ! 
 To Thee all nature homage brings. 
 The angels all alone in state, 
 In the celestial city wait. 
 
Hymns 203 
 
 O God of gods, eternal Light, 
 
 O Lord most high, most sweet, most bright ; 
 
 O God of patience, past all thought ; 
 
 O God, Thou teacher of the taught ; 
 
 O God, who hast made all that was, 
 Of past and present Thou the cause. 
 O Father, for Thy Son's dear sake, 
 Prepare the way that I shall take, 
 
 And let Thy Holy Spirit guide 
 
 My soul through all my wandering wide. 
 
 Christ, lover of the virgin choir, 
 Christ, man's Redeemer from hell-fire, 
 Christ, fount of wisdom, pure and clear, 
 Christ, in whose word we hope and fear, 
 
 Christ, breastplate in the hour of fight, 
 Christ, who has made the world and light. 
 
 Christ, of the dead the living life, 
 Christ, of the living, strength in strife. 
 Christ, crowner of each conquering soul, 
 Who count'st it in the martyrs' roll. 
 
 Christ, Saviour of the world so wide, 
 Christ on the cross at Passion-tide, 
 Christ into depths of hell descends, 
 Christ into heaven above ascends. 
 
 Be glory to the Father given, 
 Exalted in the highest heaven, 
 All honour to the Only Son, 
 With God the Father ever One, 
 And to the Spirit Holiest, blest, 
 Be equal power and praise addrest : 
 So be it until time is past, 
 And while Eternity shall last. 
 
 * Mary F. Cusack. 
 
204 Jfymns. 
 
 Cf)e Cfmstian 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 backward on my actions past 
 I turn my mournful eyes, 
 The black review from first to last, 
 With guilt all crowded lies. 
 
 When on the time to come I pore, 
 
 The lowering prospect shows 
 A dreadful sea without a shore, 
 
 A sea of fears and woes. 
 
 Behold, even now the storm begins, 
 
 The swelling billows rise, 
 And gathering fury from my sins, 
 
 And from the angry skies, 
 
 Thro' terrors not to be expressed, 
 
 My troubled soul they drive, 
 Of hope, of comfort, and of rest, 
 
 My anxious heart deprive. 
 
 Oppressed by fear, by hope betrayed, 
 
 'Tis vain to stand or fly : 
 For life unfit, of death afraid, 
 
 I must not, dare not, die. 
 
 From God's all-seeing eyes to hide, 
 
 Or screen me from his view, 
 'Tis vain in darkness to confide, 
 
 He looks my conscience through. 
 
 There, blessed Saviour, take me in, 
 
 There safely let me lie, 
 Till thou hast purged my soul from sin, 
 
 And vengeance passes by. 
 
 Rev. Philip Skelton. 
 
Hymns. 205 
 
 to 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 God, ye choir above, begin 
 A hymn so loud and strong, 
 That all the universe may hear, 
 And join the grateful song. 
 
 Praise Him, thou sun, who dwells unseen 
 
 Amidst transcendent light, 
 Where thy refulgent orb would seem 
 
 A spot, as dark as night. 
 
 Thou silver moon, ye host of stars, 
 
 The universal song, 
 Thro' the serene and silent night, 
 
 To list'ning worlds prolong. 
 
 Sing Him, ye distant worlds and suns, 
 From whence no travelling ray 
 
 Hath yet to us, thro' ages past, 
 Had time to make its way. 
 
 Assist, ye raging storms, and bear 
 
 On rapid wings His praise, 
 From north to south, from east to west, 
 
 Thro' heaven, and earth, and seas. 
 
 Exert your voice ye furious fires 
 
 That rend the wat'ry cloud ; 
 And thunder to this nether world, 
 
 Your Maker's word aloud. 
 
 Ye works of God, that dwell unknown 
 
 Beneath the rolling main ; 
 Ye birds, that sing among the groves, 
 
 And sweep the azure plain ; 
 
206 Hymns. 
 
 Ye stately hills, that rear your heads, 
 And, tow'ring, pierce the sky ; 
 
 Ye clouds, that with an awful pace, 
 Majestic roll on high ; 
 
 Ye insects small, to which one leaf 
 
 Within its narrow sides, 
 A vast extended world displays, 
 
 And spacious realms provides ; 
 
 Ye race, still less than these, with which 
 The stagnant water teems, 
 
 To which one drop, however small, 
 A boundless ocean seems. 
 
 Whate'er you are, where'er you dwell, 
 
 Ye creatures great or small, 
 Adore the wisdom, praise the power, 
 
 That made and keeps you all. 
 
 And if you want or sense or sounds 
 
 To swell the grateful noise, 
 Prompt mankind with that sense, and they 
 
 Shall find for you a voice. 
 
 From all the realms of boundless space 
 Let loud Hosannahs sound ; 
 
 Loud send, ye wond'rous works of God, 
 The joyful concert round. 
 
 Rev. Philip Skelton. 
 
Hymns. 207 
 
 Jt)gmn for 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 AEE, the star that leads the day, 
 ^^ Rising, shoots a golden ray, 
 To make the shades of darkness go 
 From heaven above and earth below j 
 And warn us early with the sight, 
 To leave the beds of silent night ; 
 From a heart sincere and sound, 
 From its very deepest ground, 
 Send devotion up on high, 
 Winged with heat to reach the sky. 
 See, the time for sleep has run, 
 Rise before, or with the sun ; 
 Lift the hands, and humbly pray, 
 The fountain of eternal day ; 
 That, as the light serenely fair, 
 Illustrates all the tracts of air, 
 The sacred spirit so may rest, 
 With quickening beams, upon thy breast 
 And kindly clean it all within 
 From darker blemishes of sin ; 
 And shine with grace until we view 
 The realm it gilds with glory too. 
 See, the day that dawns in air 
 Brings along its toil and care ; 
 From the lap of night it springs, 
 With heaps of business on its wings ; 
 Prepare to meet them in a mind 
 That bows submissively resigned ; 
 That would to works appointed fall, 
 That knows that God has ordered all. 
 And whether, with a small repast, 
 We break the sober morning fast ; 
 Or in our thoughts and houses lay 
 The future methods of the day ; 
 Or early walk abroad to meet 
 
2o8 Hymns. 
 
 Our business, with industrious feet ; 
 Whate'er we think, whate'er we do, 
 His glory still be kept in view. 
 O giver of eternal bliss, 
 Heavenly Father, grant me this ; 
 Grant it all, as well as me, 
 All whose hearts are fixed on thee ; 
 Who revere Thy Son above, 
 Who Thy sacred Spirit love. 
 
 Thomas Parnell, D.D. 
 
 for 
 
 xc. 
 
 beam-repelling mists arise, 
 And evening spreads obscurer skies ; 
 And twilight will the night forerun, 
 And night itself be soon begun. 
 Upon thy knees devoutly vow, 
 And pray the Lord of Glory now 
 To fill thy breast, or deadly sin 
 May cause a blinder night within. 
 And whether pleasing vapours rise, 
 Which gently dim the closing eyes, 
 Which make the weary members blest 
 With sweet refreshment in their rest ; 
 Or whether spirits in the brain 
 Dispel their soft embrace again ; 
 And on my watchful bed I stay, 
 Forsook by sleep, and waiting day ; 
 Be God for ever in my view, 
 And never He forsake me, too ; 
 But still as day concludes in night, 
 To break again with new-born light ; 
 His wondrous bounty let me find, 
 With still a more enlighten'd mind ; 
 
Hymns. 209 
 
 When grace and love in one agree 
 Grace from God, and love from me ; 
 Grace that will from heaven inspire, 
 Love that seals it in desire ; 
 Grace and love that mingle beams, 
 And fill me with increasing flames. 
 Thou that hast Thy palace far 
 Above the moon and every star, 
 Thou that sittest on a throne 
 To which the night was never known, 
 Regard my voice and make me blest, 
 By kindly granting its request. 
 If thoughts on Thee my soul employ, 
 My darkness will afford me joy 
 Till Thou shalt call, and I shall soar 
 And part with darkness evermore. 
 
 Thomas Parnell, D.D. 
 
 in >orroto, 
 
 XCI. 
 
 kind compassion hear me cry, 
 O Jesu, Lord of life, on high ! 
 As when the summer's seasons beat, 
 With scorching flame and parching heat, 
 The trees are burnt, the flowers fade, 
 And thirsty gaps in earth are made ; 
 My thoughts of comfort languish so, 
 And so my soul is broke by woe. 
 Then on Thy servant's drooping head 
 The dews of blessing sweetly shed ; 
 Let those a quick refreshment give, 
 And raise my mind, and bid me live. 
 My fears of danger, while I breathe, 
 My dread of endless hell beneath, 
 My sense of sorrow for my sin, 
 
 
2io Hymns. 
 
 To springing comfort, change within ; 
 
 Change all my sad complaints for ease, 
 
 To cheerful notes of endless praise : 
 
 Nor let a tear mine eyes employ, 
 
 But such as owe their birth to joy ; 
 
 Joy transporting, sweet, and strong, 
 
 Fit to fill and raise my song ; 
 
 Joy that shall resounded be, 
 
 While days and nights succeed for me, 
 
 Be not as a judge severe, 
 
 For so Thy presence who may bear ? 
 
 On all my words and actions look, 
 
 (I know they're written in Thy book) ; 
 
 But then regard my mournful cry, 
 
 And look with mercy's gracious eye ; 
 
 What needs my blood, since Thine will do, 
 
 To pay the debt to justice due ? 
 
 Oh, tender mercy's art divine ! 
 
 Thy sorrow proves the cure of mine ! 
 
 Thy dropping wounds, Thy woeful smart, 
 
 Allay the bleedings of my heart ; 
 
 Thy death, in death's extreme of pain, 
 
 Restores my soul to life again. 
 
 Guide me, then, for here I burn 
 
 To make my Savour some return. 
 
 I'll rise (if that will please Him still, 
 
 And sure I've heard Him own it will) ; 
 
 I'll trace His steps, and bear my cross, 
 
 Despising every grief and loss ; 
 
 Since He, despising pain and shame, 
 
 First took up His, and did the same. 
 
 Thomas Parnell, D,D. 
 
Hymns. 211 
 
 C&rwtmas 
 
 XCII. 
 
 JfTTJHILE shepherds watched their flocks by night 
 ***** All seated on the ground, 
 The angel of the Lord came down, 
 And glory shone around. 
 
 " Fear not," said he (for mighty dread 
 
 Had seized their troubled mind) ; 
 " Glad tidings of great joy I bring 
 
 To you and all mankind. 
 
 To you, in David's town, this day 
 
 Is born of David's line 
 The Saviour, who is Christ the Lord ; 
 
 And this shall be the sign. 
 
 The heavenly Babe you there shall find 
 
 To human view displayed, 
 All meanly wrapt in swathing bands, 
 
 And in a manger laid." 
 
 Thus spake the Seraph ; and forthwith 
 
 Appeared a shining throng 
 Of angels, praising God, and thus 
 
 Addressed their joyful song. 
 
 " All glory be to God on high, 
 
 And to the earth be peace ; 
 Good- will henceforth from heaven to men 
 
 Begin, and never cease ! " 
 
 Nahum Tate. 
 o 2 
 
212 Hymns. 
 
 3[esus, at tfjp Command 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 OJESUS, at Thy command 
 -3J I launch into the deep, 
 And leave my native land, 
 Where sin lulls all asleep : 
 For Thee I fain would all resign, 
 And sail to heaven with Thee and Thine. 
 
 Thou art my pilot wise ; 
 
 My compass is Thy word ; 
 
 My soul each storm defies, 
 
 While I have such a Lord. 
 I trust Thy faithfulness and power 
 To save me in the trying hour. 
 
 Though rocks and quicksands deep 
 Through all my passage lie, 
 Yet Christ will safely keep 
 And guide me with His eye : 
 My anchor, hope, shall firm abide, 
 And I each boisterous storm outride. 
 
 By faith I see the land, 
 
 The port of endless rest ; 
 
 My soul, thy sails expand 
 
 And fly to Jesus' breast : 
 O may I reach the heavenly shore, 
 Where winds and waves distress no more. 
 
 Whene'er becalmed I lie, 
 
 And storms forbear to toss, 
 
 Be thou, dear Lord, still nigh, 
 
 Lest I should suffer loss : 
 For more the treacherous calm I dread, 
 Than tempests bursting o'er my head. 
 
Hymns. 213 
 
 Come, heavenly wind, and blow 
 
 A prosperous gale of grace, 
 
 To waft from all below 
 
 To heaven, my destined place : 
 Then, in full sail, my port I'll find, 
 And leave the world and sin behind. 
 
 Rev. Richard De Courcy. 
 
 Cfmst 10 TBorn, 
 
 XCIV. 
 
 CHRIST is born, go tell the story, 
 Tell the nations of His birth ; 
 Tell them that the " Lord of Glory " 
 Comes from heaven to dwell on earth : 
 
 Let the tidings 
 Fill the world with sacred mirth. 
 
 See, He lies in yonder manger : 
 
 " Prince of Life," His title is, 
 'Midst His own, and yet a stranger, 
 
 All things seen and unseen His ; 
 Yet neglected : 
 
 Wonder, O ye heavens, at this. 
 
 See fulfill'd prophetic vision, 
 
 " Unto us a child is born ; " 
 Though an object of derision, 
 
 Though the theme of human scorn : 
 Yet His people 
 
 Hail His birth, and cease to mourn. 
 
 Hail, Emmanuel, child of promise, 
 " Lord of All " in humble guise ; 
 Long detained, and absent from us, 
 Come at length to bless our eyes : 
 
 Hail, Emmanuel ! 
 God the Saviour, only wise ! 
 
 Thomas Kelly. 
 
214 Hymns. 
 
 3[e0iis Drains tfje Cup of 
 
 xcv. 
 
 OJESUS drains the cup of sorrows ; 
 ~j) See, He lies beneath our load ; 
 Gives His life a ransom for us, 
 
 And redeems us by His blood ; 
 Was there ever love like this ? 
 Was there ever grief like His ? 
 
 Jesus is " a Man of Sorrows," 
 Here He claims pre-eminence ; 
 
 See Him pierced by heaven's own arrows ; 
 See Him die for our offence. 
 
 We, like sheep, had gone astray : 
 
 Jesus takes our sins away. 
 
 Jesus suffers wond'rous victim ! 
 
 Tis the Son of God that dies ! 
 Heaven, and earth, and hell, afflict Him : 
 
 Justice claims the sacrifice. 
 Darkness now exerts its power ; 
 Darkness reigns this fearful hour. 
 
 Come, ye saints, look here and wonder ; 
 
 Come, behold what love could do ; 
 Gaze upon the victim yonder : 
 
 Jesus suffered thus for you. 
 Bid adieu to low desire ; 
 Here let earthly love expire. 
 
 Thomas Kelly. 
 
Hymns. 215 
 
 J>eafl tfmt once teas Crotonefl toitf) 
 Cfjotm 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 CHE head that once was crowned with thorns 
 Is crowned with glory now, 
 A royal diadem adorns 
 The mighty victor's brow. 
 
 The highest place that heaven affords 
 
 Is His, is His by right, 
 " The King of Kings, and Lord of Lords," 
 
 And heaven's eternal light. 
 
 The joy of all who dwell above, 
 
 The joy of all below 
 To whom He manifests His love, 
 
 And grants His name to know. 
 
 To them the cross, with all its shame, 
 
 With all its grace, is given ; 
 Their name an everlasting name, 
 
 Their joy the joy of heaven. 
 
 They suffer with their Lord below, 
 
 They reign with Him above ; 
 Their profit and their joy to know 
 
 The mystery of His love. 
 
 The cross He bore is life and health, 
 
 Though shame and death to Him ; 
 His people's hope, his people's wealth, 
 
 Their everlasting theme. 
 
 Thomas Kelly. 
 
216 Hymns. 
 
 Jmrfc, tfte touting of latine0s, 
 
 XCVII. 
 
 ARK ! the sounds of gladness 
 
 From a distant shore ; 
 Like relief from sadness, 
 
 Sadness, now no more : 
 'Tis the Lord has done it, 
 
 He has won the day, 
 His own arm has won it, 
 Joyful let us say. 
 
 Idols lately bowed to 
 
 Lie by all abhorred ; 
 And the people crowd to 
 
 Temples of the Lord : 
 What a change ! how glorious ! 
 
 Lord, Thine arm is strong, 
 Thou hast proved victorious, 
 
 Though the fight was long. 
 
 Long the foe resisted, 
 
 Loth to yield his prey ; 
 Every power enlisted, 
 
 And maintained the day : 
 But his arm is shattered, 
 
 And the slaves are free ; 
 All his force is scattered ; 
 
 Glory, Lord, to Thee. 
 
 Hence, those sounds of gladness 
 
 From a distant shore ; 
 Then away with sadness, 
 
 And despond no more : 
 Ye who mourn with Zion, 
 
 And her welfare seek, 
 Think of Judah's lion, 
 
 Never faint nor weak. 
 
Hymns. 217 
 
 When he wakes from slumber, 
 
 And puts on his might, 
 What is force or number 
 
 Matched with him in fight ? 
 When his foes assemble, 
 
 Hoping to prevail, 
 Soon the valiant tremble, 
 
 And the mighty fail. 
 
 Thomas Kelly. 
 
 HDn t&e s^otmtain's Cop. 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 |N the mountain's top appearing, 
 Lo ! the sacred herald stands, 
 Welcome news to Zion bearing, 
 Zion long in hostile lands ; 
 
 Mourning captive ! 
 God himself will loose thy bands. 
 
 Has thy night been long and mournful ? 
 
 Have thy friends unfaithful proved ? 
 Have thy foes been proud and scornful, 
 
 By thy sighs and tears unmoved ? 
 Cease thy mourning, 
 
 Zion still is well beloved. 
 
 God, thy God, will now restore thee : 
 He himself appears thy friend ; 
 
 All thy foes shall flee before thee, 
 Here their boasts and triumphs end ; 
 
 Great deliverance 
 Zion's King vouchsafes to send. 
 
2i8 Hymns. 
 
 Enemies no more shall trouble, 
 All thy wrongs shall be redressed ; 
 
 For thy shame thou shalt have double, 
 In thy Maker's favour blessed ; 
 
 All thy conflicts 
 End in everlasting rest. 
 
 Thomas Kelly. 
 
 'fce no atuOing; Citp 
 
 XCIX. 
 
 jrTTJE'VE no abiding city here," 
 ^^* This may distress the worldling's mind ; 
 But should not cost the saint a tear, 
 Who hopes a better rest to find. 
 
 " We've no abiding city here," 
 Sad truth, were this to be our home ; 
 
 But let the thought our spirits cheer, 
 "We seek a city yet to come." 
 
 " We've no abiding city here," 
 
 Then, let us live as pilgrims do ; 
 Let not the world our rest appear, 
 
 But let as haste from all below. 
 
 "We've no abiding city here," 
 
 We seek a city out of sight, 
 Zion its name the Lord is there, 
 
 It shines with everlasting light. 
 
 Thomas Kelly. 
 
Hymns. 219 
 
 Dion's King: 0fmll Keign trictortou0. 
 
 c. 
 
 ION'S King shall reign victorious, 
 All the earth shall own His sway, 
 He will make His kingdom glorious, 
 He will reign through endless day : 
 What, though none on earth assist Him, 
 
 God requires not help from man ; 
 What, though all the world resist Him, 
 God will realise His plan. 
 
 Nations now from God estranged, 
 
 Then shall see a glorious light, 
 Night to day shall then be changed, 
 
 Heaven shall triumph in the sight : 
 See, the ancient idols falling ! 
 
 Worshipped once, but now abhorred ; 
 Men on Zion's King are calling, 
 
 Zion's King by all adored. 
 
 Then shall Israel long dispersed, 
 
 Mourning seek the Lord their God, 
 Look on Him whom once they pierced, 
 
 Own and kiss the chastening rod : 
 Then all Israel shall be saved, 
 
 War and tumult then shall cease, 
 While the greater Son of David 
 
 Rules a conquer'd world in peace. 
 
 Mighty King, Thine arm revealing, 
 
 Now Thy glorious cause maintain, 
 Bring the nations help and healing, 
 
 Make them subject to Thy reign: 
 Angels in their lofty station 
 
 Praise Thy name, Thou only wise, 
 O let earth with emulation, 
 
 Join the triumph of the skies. 
 
 Thomas Kelly. 
 
22o Hymns. 
 
 CI. 
 
 us, Almighty Lord, this day, 
 Thy mercies to proclaim ; 
 Teach us with heart and lip to pray, 
 " All hallowed be Thy Name." 
 
 Grant that as we our wrongs forgive, 
 Our faults may be forgiven ; 
 
 And daily may our souls receive 
 The bread that comes from heaven. 
 
 Grant that our hearts no more may yield 
 
 To sin and Satan's power ; 
 But make Thy word our sword and shield, 
 
 In dark temptation's hour. 
 
 Grant that Thou mayst be worshipped here 
 
 As angels worship Thee 
 In love that casteth out all fear, 
 
 Till earth shall bow the knee. 
 
 When shall we see the coming sign ? 
 
 When hear the trumpet blown, 
 Which makes earth's kingdoms all be Thine, 
 
 The universe Thy throne ? 
 
 Rev. George Croly, LL.D. 
 
Hymns. 221 
 
 Spiritual uinance, 
 
 CII. 
 
 lit* LEST be the day, all gracious Lord, 
 *^* Which Thou to man hast given, 
 To sing Thy praise, and hear Thy word, 
 And fix his heart on heaven. 
 
 And while beneath Thy sacred roof, 
 We join in humble prayer, 
 
 May eveiy thought be kept aloof 
 Unfit to enter there. 
 
 Teach us on earth, however tried, 
 To love and serve Thee still ; 
 
 To make Thy law our only guide 
 Thy will our only will. 
 
 Teach us to keep our conscience pure, 
 
 Our heart without a stain ; 
 Our hope unclouded, faith secure, 
 
 Till death dissolves our chain. 
 
 Rev. George Croly, LL.D. 
 
 Supplication, 
 
 cm. 
 
 of God ! descend upon my heart ; 
 Wean it from earth ; through all its pulses move ; 
 Stoop to my weakness, mighty as Thou art, 
 And make me love Thee as I ought to love. 
 
222 Hymns. 
 
 I ask no dream, no prophet ecstasies ; 
 
 No sudden rending of the veil of clay ; 
 No angel-visitant, no opening skies ; 
 
 But take the dimness of my soul away. 
 
 Hast Thou not bid us love Thee, God and King ? 
 
 All, all Thine own soul, heart, and strength, and 
 
 mind; 
 I see Thy cross there teach my heart to cling ; 
 
 Oh, let me seek Thee, and Oh, let me find ! 
 
 Teach me to feel that Thou art always nigh ; 
 
 Teach me the struggles of the soul to bear ; 
 To check the rising doubt, the rebel sigh ; 
 
 Teach me the patience of unanswer'd prayer. 
 
 Teach me to love Thee as Thine angels love, 
 One holy passion filling all my frame ; 
 
 The baptism of the heaven-descended Dove, 
 My heart an altar, and Thy love the flame. 
 
 Rev. George Croly, LL.D. 
 
 c 
 
 Come unto 
 
 CIV. 
 
 tearful eyes I look around, 
 Life seems a dark and stormy sea ; 
 Yet, midst the gloom I hear a sound, 
 A heavenly whisper " Come to me." 
 
 It tells me of a place of rest, 
 
 It tells me where my soul may flee ; 
 
 Oh ! to the weary, faint, opprest, 
 
 How sweet the bidding " Come to me /" 
 
Hymns. 223 
 
 When the poor heart with anguish learns 
 That earthly props resigned must be, 
 
 And from each broken cistern turns, 
 It hears the accents " Come to me." 
 
 When against sin I strive in vain, 
 And cannot from its yoke get free, 
 
 Sinking beneath the heavy chain, 
 The words arrest me " Come to me" 
 
 When nature shudders, loath to part 
 From all I love, enjoy, and see ; 
 
 When a faint chill steals o'er my heart, 
 A sweet voice utters " Come to me." 
 
 " Come, for all else must fail and die, 
 Earth is no resting-place for thee ; 
 
 Heavenward direct thy weeping eye ; 
 I am thy Portion " Come to me" 
 
 O, voice of mercy ! voice of love ! 
 
 In death's last fearful agony, 
 Support me cheer me from above ! 
 
 And gently whisper " Come to me" 
 
 Rev. Hugh White. 
 
 I3meteent|) 
 
 cv. 
 
 supreme, in glory dwelling, 
 Of Thy wondrous power and might- 
 Earth and heaven rejoice in telling, 
 Day to day, and night to night ; 
 
224 Hymns. 
 
 Through each clime, to every nation, 
 Trumpet-tongued by sea, by land- 
 Nature speaks her adoration 
 Of Thy great creative hand. 
 
 See, the sun, in bridal splendour, 
 
 Tells from whence his glories rise 
 See, the moon, her homage render, 
 
 As she climbs the spangled skies ; 
 Glorious, thus, Thy Word it beameth, 
 
 O'er the soul serenely bright, 
 Speaking Him whose love redeemeth 
 
 Joy of nations Light of light. 
 
 Some may strive for earthly treasure, 
 
 Gold of Ophir's richest mine \ 
 Sons of luxury and pleasure, 
 
 For their honied sweets may pine ; 
 Be Thy grace my soul's possession, 
 
 Ruling every turn of mind, 
 Till each thought, and each expression 
 
 In Thy sight acceptance find. 
 
 Lieut.-Col. Blacker. 
 
 CVI. 
 
 JjJPLIFT the voice of melody, your choicest numbers bring, 
 ^* Of grace divine the song shall be, and mercy's flowing 
 
 spring; 
 We'll celebrate the mighty love of Him, who, throned on 
 
 high, 
 Descended from that throne above, to suffer and to die. 
 
Hymns. 225 
 
 Uplift the voice of melody, to hail the glorious morn, 
 That saw in Beth'lem's manger lie the wondrous Virgin-born ; 
 We'll follow in the shining train of that seraphic band, 
 Whose voices bore, in choral strain, the tidings thro' the 
 land. 
 
 Uplift the voice of melody, " to us a Son is given " 
 Shout "peace, good-will" and victory, the bonds of sin are 
 
 riven ; 
 He comes " the Sun of Righteousness," with healing in His 
 
 wings 
 He comes, a ransomed world to bless, and reign the King 
 
 of Kings. 
 
 Uplift the voice of melody, " Hosanna to the Lord" 
 Let earth, let ocean, and let sky take up the joyous word, 
 And hail with us the glorious day that gave the Saviour 
 
 birth, 
 To Him united homage pay Emmanuel God on earth. 
 
 Lieut-Col Blacker. 
 
 CVII. 
 
 /jttTERNAL Spirit ! Thou whose wing 
 ^^ Didst order fair from chaos bring, 
 As, brooding o'er the formless earth, 
 It sped the young creation's birth. 
 
 Eternal Spirit ! Thou the same 
 Revealed in tongues of lambent flame 
 To aid the Apostolic band 
 To preach the Word in every land. 
 p 
 
226 Hymus. 
 
 Eternal Spirit ! hail to Thee, 
 Commissioned from above to be 
 Our sanctifying comfort here, 
 Till Jesus' self shall re-appear. 
 
 Eternal Spirit ! Dove of Grace ! 
 
 Oh, make our hearts Thy dwelling-place ; 
 
 And still, with power divine, control 
 
 Each thought that " wars against the soul." 
 
 Eternal Spirit ! lo ! we raise 
 To Thee the tribute of pur praise, 
 Conjoint with Father and with Son, 
 The everlasting Three in One. 
 
 Lieut. -Col. Blacker. 
 
 CVIII. 
 
 ! ere we turn us to repose, 
 Before our eyes in slumber close, 
 To Thee our humble thanks we pay, 
 For all the blessings of the day. 
 
 If safe through many an evil hour, 
 If shielded from the tempter's power, 
 The safeguard of our path we own, 
 Is Thy protecting love alone. 
 
 Alike to Thee the day, the night, 
 Alike the darkness and the light ; 
 Through both, to us, all gracious Lord ! 
 Thy sure protection then afford. 
 
Hymns. 227 
 
 Around us still, awake, asleep, 
 The angel of Thy presence keep ; 
 His guardian watch, His pinions spread 
 About our path, about our bed. 
 
 Oh, teach us so of Time to think, 
 As those who stand on judgment's brink, 
 Whose soul required, this night may be 
 Forbid another dawn to see. 
 
 To Father, Son, and Spirit blessed, 
 Be worship, glory, praise addressed; 
 Hosanna ! Lord supreme ! to Thee, 
 Triune in glorious majesty. 
 
 Lieut. - Col. Blacker. 
 
 10 t&e jFoe, mp Spirit tell? 
 
 CIX. 
 
 is the foe, my spirit tell, 
 Or what the power of earth or hell, 
 That shall my steadfast bosom move 
 To quit my dear Redeemer's love ? 
 
 Shall tribulation's gloomy train, 
 Or sad distress, or grinding pain, 
 Or persecution breathing blood, 
 Or peril by the land or flood, 
 
 Or famine howling at my board, 
 Or tyrant armed with fire and sword ? 
 Not these, nor worse, my soul appal, 
 Thro' Christ I triumph o'er them all. 
 p 2 
 
228 Hymns. 
 
 And in my secret soul I feel, 
 Not danger, want, nor fire, nor steel ; 
 Not all the torments death arrays, 
 Not all the glories life displays, 
 
 Not empires, diadems, and thrones, 
 Nor angels' joys, nor hell's deep groans ; 
 Not all the present hour reveals, 
 Not all futurity conceals, 
 
 Nor height sublime, nor depth profound, 
 Nor aught in all creation's round, 
 Shall e'er my steadfast bosom move 
 To quit my dear Redeemer's love. 
 
 William H. Dnimmond, D.D. 
 
 Cfmnfts to <$oti tfje lorn 
 
 ex. 
 
 (tglVE thanks to God the Lord ! 
 ^^ The victory is ours ; 
 And hell is overcome 
 
 By Christ's triumphant powers. 
 The monster Sin 
 
 In chains is bound, 
 And Death has felt 
 His mortal wound. 
 
 Oppressed by guilt and woe, 
 In darkness long we lay ; 
 Till Christ on earth appeared 
 Then all was boundless day. 
 With terror struck, 
 
 The host of night 
 Fled in despair, 
 To shun the light. 
 
Hymns. 229 
 
 Now o'er the vanquish'd tomb, 
 
 Behold the trophy blaze ; 
 The banner of the Cross, 
 
 That pours its streaming rays, 
 To mark the path 
 
 Where Jesus trod, 
 And upward guide 
 Our steps to God. 
 
 Give thanks to God the Lord ! 
 
 The victory is won ; 
 And up the path to heaven 
 Our march is now begun. 
 The hymn of joy 
 Exulting raise ; 
 And shout aloud 
 The Saviour's praise. 
 
 William H. Drummond, D.D. 
 
 Cf)e J>eatien of ijjeatiens cannot contain, 
 
 CXI. 
 
 CHE Heaven of Heavens cannot contain 
 The Universal Lord ; 
 Yet He, in humble hearts, will deign 
 To dwell, and be adored. 
 
 Where'er ascends the sacrifice 
 
 Of fervent praise and prayer, 
 Or on the earth, or in the skies, 
 
 The Heaven of God is there. 
 
 His presence there is spread abroad, 
 
 Through realms, through worlds unknown ; 
 
 Who seeks the mercies of his God, 
 Is ever near His throne. 
 
 Dr. Drennan. 
 
23 Hymns. 
 
 Cfje 
 
 CXII. 
 
 ARK ! what notes of rolling thunder 
 Now proclaim the King is near ! 
 All creation starts in wonder, 
 
 Sinners shrink with trembling fear ; 
 Jesus comes in clouds descending, 
 Angels all their voices lending, 
 And the songs of saints ascending, 
 Call on heaven and earth to hear. 
 
 See, His glorious throne erected, 
 
 He who once appeared as man, 
 Slighted, spumed, despised, rejected, 
 
 Now unfolds His righteous plan. 
 Earth's great empires now are ended, 
 All its kingdoms to be blended 
 Into ONE, for Christ intended 
 Ev'n before the world began. 
 
 Ransom'd saints bow down before Him, 
 
 Grateful own His sovereign sway ; 
 Sinners ! look, believe, adore Him, 
 
 At His throne of mercy pray ; 
 Ask for every promis'd blessing, 
 All your guilt and sin confessing, 
 Then, both joy and peace possessing, 
 Spend with Him an endless day. 
 
 Dean Bagot, D.D. 
 
Hymns. 231 
 
 Cfje <So0pei ^mutation. 
 
 CXIII. 
 
 DINNERS come, by guilt afflicted, 
 Come to Christ, the sinner's friend, 
 Lo ! He calls the heavy laden 
 
 And the weary to attend ; 
 Now He calls you, 
 
 At His cross in prayer to bend. 
 
 Glorious means has He provided 
 From the coming wrath to flee, 
 
 By His precious death and burial, 
 By His cross and agony ; 
 
 Chief of sinners, 
 Here your peace and pardon see. 
 
 All the works the Law requireth 
 He Himself hath fully wrought ; 
 
 From the curse of Sinai's justice 
 He hath guilty sinners bought : 
 
 Let your souls, then, 
 By His love and grace be taught. 
 
 Blessings rich He'll freely give you, 
 By His pains and groans obtained ; 
 
 Pardon now, and joys hereafter, 
 Every source of bliss is gained ; 
 
 Ceaseless pleasures 
 For His ransom'd Church ordained. 
 
2 $2 Hymns. 
 
 Faith in Him will lead you onward 
 To the place where He is gone, 
 
 Where He is himself preparing 
 Seats before His Father's throne, 
 
 Made for those who 
 Plead His finished work alone. 
 
 Sinners come, refuse no longer, 
 Angels wish to see you near ; 
 
 Christ invites you God commands you : 
 Give to both a listening ear. 
 
 Blessed Spirit, 
 Banish Thou their trembling fear. 
 
 Dean Bagot, D.D. 
 
 C&e noblest >ong;0 tfmt 3n0els 
 
 CXIV. 
 
 noblest songs that angels sing 
 * Are sung in honour of their King ; 
 The sweetest strains that saints can raise 
 Are tuned to their Redeemer's praise. 
 
 The brightest crowns the ransomed wear 
 In heaven above, resplendent, fair, 
 They cast before their Saviour's throne, 
 And homage pay to Him alone. 
 
 Oh ! may it be our lot at last, 
 When life's precarious days are past, 
 With them in clouds from earth to rise 
 To meet our Saviour in the skies. 
 
 * Dean Bagot, D.D. 
 
Hymns. 233 
 
 Cfjere is a 3(op Gnfenoton in ^eatien. 
 
 cxv. 
 
 HERE is a joy unknown in heaven, 
 
 The infant joy of those forgiven, 
 Who by their faith and trust alone 
 Christ as their Lord and Saviour own. 
 
 There is a hope a hope of bliss 
 Which Gabriel cannot claim as his ; 
 The hope a sinner feels when God 
 Bathes him in Christ's atoning blood. 
 
 There is a love a blessed love 
 Unfelt by those who live above ; 
 Saints, but not angels, feel its spell 
 When rescued from the gates of hell. 
 
 But saints and angels join in one 
 To worship Jesus on His throne ; 
 Their song of ardent praise resounds 
 To heaven's and earth's remotest bounds. 
 
 * Dean Bagot, D.D. 
 
 mg jfeet fmtie 
 
 CXVI. 
 
 7T7TJHEN my feet have wandered 
 ^^* From the narrow way 
 Out into the desert, 
 
 Gone like sheep astray ; 
 Soiled and sore with travel 
 
 Through the ways of men, 
 All too weak to bear me 
 
 Back to Thee again : 
 
234 Hymns. 
 
 Hear me, O my Father ! 
 
 From Thy mercy-seat, 
 Save me by the Passion 
 
 Of the Bleeding Feet! 
 
 When my hands, unholy 
 
 Through some sinful deed 
 Wrought in me, have freshly 
 
 Made my Saviour's bleed: 
 And I cannot lift up 
 
 Mine to Thee in prayer, 
 Tied and bound, and holden 
 
 Back by my despair : 
 Then, my Father ! loose them, 
 
 Break for me their bands, 
 Save me by the Passion 
 
 Of the Bleeding Hands ! 
 
 When my thoughts, unruly, 
 
 Dare to doubt of Thee, 
 And Thy ways to question 
 
 Deem is to be free : 
 Till, through cloud and darkness, 
 
 Wholly gone astray, 
 They find no returning 
 
 To the narrow way : 
 Then, my God ! mine only 
 
 Trust and truth art Thou ; 
 Save me by the Passion 
 
 Of the Bleeding Brow / 
 
 W'hen my heart, forgetful 
 
 Of the Love that yet 
 (Though by man forgotten) 
 
 Never can forget ; 
 All its best affections 
 
 Spent on things below, 
 In its sad despondings 
 
 Knows not where to go : 
 
Hymns. 235 
 
 Then, my God ! mine only 
 
 Hope and help Thou art ; 
 Save me by the Passion 
 
 Of the Bleeding Heart! 
 
 Rev. J. S. B. Monsell, LL.D. 
 
 CrofomeD toitf) Cfjorns, 
 
 CXVII. 
 
 /IpROWNED with thorns, arrayed in purple, 
 ^" O, my Saviour, how divine 
 Art Thou in Thy robe of meekness, 
 
 With that bleeding brow of Thine ! 
 Oh ! if through the scorn of others 
 
 My poor heart can loyal be, 
 When Thou comest in Thy kingdom, 
 
 Wilt Thou not remember me ? 
 
 Saviour ! when the world insults me, 
 
 I to Thee will turn instead ; 
 See, the mockers spit upon Thee, 
 
 Take the reed and smite Thy head ; 
 Oh ! if then my soul, ashamed 
 
 For Thy sake, can gentle be, 
 When Thou comest in Thy kingdom, 
 
 Wilt Thou not remember me ? 
 
 Christ ! the Rock from whence for thousands 
 
 Once the healing waters burst, 
 Now my wounded, dying Saviour ! 
 
 Crying from parch'd lips, " I thirst :" 
 Oh ! if I through faith can only 
 
 Find my freshest springs in Thee, 
 When Thou comest in Thy kingdom, 
 
 Wilt Thou not remember me ? 
 
 Amen. 
 
 Rev.J. S. B. Monsell, LL.D. 
 
236 Hymns. 
 
 on 110, ^eatienlg jFat&er, 
 
 CXVIII. 
 
 on us, heavenly Father, 
 For the love of Jesus, take, 
 And, with Thine own Holy Spirit, 
 
 Save us for Thy mercies' sake. 
 
 By the lowly Cradle Manger, 
 Over which the angels spake 
 Songs of peace, and words of wonder ; 
 Save us for Thy mercies' sake. 
 
 By the tender Human Nature 
 
 He for us did stoop to take, 
 
 All His travail, thirst, and hunger ; 
 
 Save us for Thy mercies' sake. 
 
 By the Tears whose loving-kindness 
 From His human eyes did break, 
 When He stood by human sorrow ; 
 Save us for Thy mercies' sake. 
 
 By the Words, whose free forgiveness 
 In the dying thief did wake 
 Hope of Paradise and pardon, 
 
 Save us for Thy mercies' sake. 
 
 By the Love that for His Mother 
 Did a last provision make 
 In her hour of desolation, 
 
 Save us for Thy mercies' sake. 
 
Hymns. 237 
 
 By the Plea, that in His Passion 
 He did for His murderers take, 
 And prefer before His Father, 
 
 Save us for Thy mercies' sake. 
 
 By the Thorns, that mocking crowned Him, 
 By the Bloody Sweat that brake 
 From His brow in bitter anguish, 
 
 Save us for Thy mercies' sake. 
 
 By His Limbs, outstretch'd and wounded, 
 By the Cleft the spear did make, 
 By the Blood, and by the Water, 
 
 Save us for Thy mercies' sake. 
 
 Amen. 
 
 Rev. / S. B. Monsell, LL.D. 
 
 Sinful, Signing to 6e 
 
 CXIX. 
 
 sighing to be blest, 
 Bound, and longing to be free, 
 Weary, waiting for my rest, 
 
 God, be merciful to me ! 
 
 Goodness I have none to plead, 
 
 Sinfulness in all I see, 
 
 I can only bring my need ; 
 
 God, be merciful to me ! 
 
 Broken heart and downcast eyes 
 Dare not lift themselves to Thee, 
 Yet Thou canst interpret sighs, 
 God, be merciful to me ! 
 
238 Hymns. 
 
 From this sinful heart of mine 
 To Thy bosom I would flee, 
 I am not my own but Thine ; 
 God, be merciful to me ! 
 
 There is One beside Thy throne, 
 And my only hope and plea 
 Are in Him, and Him alone ; 
 God, be merciful to me ! 
 
 He my cause will undertake, 
 My Interpreter will be, 
 He's my All, and for His sake, 
 God, be merciful to me ! 
 
 Amen. 
 
 Rev. J. S. B. Monsell, LL.D. 
 
 cxx. 
 
 "OJEHOVAH Sabaoth" 
 
 -3/ Tell forth the great name 
 Of Him who formed all things, 
 
 His praise to proclaim ! 
 He marshals His armies 
 
 In battle array ; 
 O ! dread ye His anger, 
 
 Nor scorn His mild sway ! 
 
 "JEHOVAH Sabaoth " 
 How mighty a shield ! 
 
 On Him, on Him only, 
 Your confidence build. 
 
Hymns. 239 
 
 Though nature's strong pillars 
 
 Should crumble to dust, 
 " JEHOVAH Sabaoth " 
 
 Will cherish the just. 
 
 " JEHOVAH Sabaoth " 
 
 The heavens He bowed ; 
 The Eternal descended, 
 
 His glory to shroud 
 In weakness and sorrow \ 
 
 Yea, stooped to the grave, 
 A race of delinquents 
 
 From anguish to save ! 
 
 " JEHOVAH Sabaoth " 
 
 His praises resound, 
 Ye winds and ye waters, 
 
 That sweep the world round ! 
 His greatness, His goodness 
 
 Ye angels extol, 
 But praise Him, ye ransom'd, 
 
 The loudest of all ! 
 
 * Rev. J. D. Hull. 
 
 CXXI. 
 
 high your notes, 
 Ye bright adoring throng 
 Who nearest stand 
 To God's right hand 
 Engaged in ardent song, 
 Pour out to-day, along your utmost line, 
 The richest measures of the art divine, 
 Through all your deeps let peal the lofty hymn 
 The Christ is born to-day in Bethlehem. 
 
240 Hymns. 
 
 And ye who roam 
 Amongst the spacious plains 
 In His employ, 
 Who is your joy, 
 Take up the inspiring strains, 
 And, while all heaven in silent wonder stands, 
 Clap, clap in unison, your myriad hands, 
 And to the sympathetic crowds proclaim 
 The Christ is born to-day in Bethlehem. 
 
 Earth, earth take up 
 The full harmonious lay, 
 In hut and hall, 
 Let great and small, 
 Be one with heaven to-day. 
 No gladder news has thrilled the air before 
 Hear it, ye lost ones, and be lost no more ; 
 Awake to hope, ye sons of sin and shame, 
 The Christ is born to-day in Bethlehem. 
 
 To-day, to-day, 
 Brothers, rejoice, to-day 
 The clouds have fled, 
 The sun has shed 
 On every heart his ray. 
 
 Hail, Prince of Peace ! hail, Uncreated Light ! 
 We give Thee welcome, King of Truth and Right ! 
 Our hearts are glad to hear the loud acclaim 
 The Christ is born to-day in Bethlehem. 
 
 * Rev. William Cowan. 
 
Hymns. 241 
 
 CXXII. 
 
 light and Thy salvation, 
 O Lord, at length have come, 
 Now send Thy swift-wing'd angel, 
 
 And bear me safely home 
 Up to the shining city 
 
 For which my spirit faints 
 The fellowship of angels, 
 The brotherhood of saints. 
 
 The burning words of prophets 
 
 That kindled Israel's hope 
 Through centuries of darkness, 
 
 When faith and doubt did cope, 
 At length receive fulfilment 
 
 These dim eyes witness bear, 
 For Christ, the Lord, is born, 
 
 The Holy Child is here. 
 
 The glory of the Gentile, 
 
 The glory of the Jew, 
 Has burst upon the nations, 
 
 And shall make all things new. 
 The darkness which erst curtained 
 
 The long-complaining earth, 
 I see it disappearing 
 
 Before the Saviour's birth. 
 
 My soul, rise to the fulness 
 
 Of joy unknown before, 
 Thy mourning days are ended, 
 
 Thy conflicts all are o'er. 
 O Christ, I've longed and thirsted 
 
 That I might see Thee come 
 Now let Death's angel bear me 
 
 In peace and safety home. 
 
 * Rev. William Cwuan. 
 Q 
 
242 Hymns. 
 
 CXXIII. 
 
 JESUS ! blessed Saviour ! 
 
 Teach us to know Thee thus ! 
 " Made an High Priest for ever," 
 
 And " entered in for us ! " 
 For us whose guilt had lost it 
 
 Thy precious blood could win 
 That long, deep rest in glory, 
 With God, and free from sin. 
 
 O Jesus ! blessed Saviour ! 
 
 In all our life's long need, 
 In all our sin and sorrow, 
 
 For us Thy suppliants plead 
 Thy precious intercession 
 
 Availeth evermore, 
 Till time and its transgression, 
 
 Its toils and tears are o'er ! 
 
 O Christ ! by God the Father 
 
 Exalted high to give 
 Peace, pardon, wisdom, glory, 
 
 We look to Thee and live. 
 O Holy Ghost, the Comforter ! 
 
 Teach us to know Him thus. 
 Help us to link together 
 
 " For ever " and " for us." 
 
 * Mrs. Henry Faussett (Alessit Bond). 
 
Hymns. 243 
 
 able to Succour in tfje 
 
 CXXIV. 
 
 to succour " in the hour 
 '**' When earthly succours fail ; 
 When doubts and dark temptations lower, 
 And shocks of sin assail. 
 
 " Able to succour " when the heart 
 Feels nought but fear and sin ; 
 
 To bid its enemies depart, 
 And whisper peace within. 
 
 " Able to succour " when life's breath 
 
 So faintly ebbs away ; 
 Unchanging in the hour of death, 
 
 And in the Judgment Day. 
 
 " Able to succour " strong to save, 
 Light of the darken'd soul ! 
 
 Its peace, its triumph o'er the grave, 
 Its Hope, its Way, its Goal ! 
 
 O Saviour ! Thou whose mighty grace 
 
 Is all the sinner's plea, 
 In all my need shew Thy dear face, 
 
 Stoop down and succour me ! 
 
 * Mrs. Henry Faussett (Alessie Bond). 
 Q2 
 
244 Hymns. 
 
 D for tfje Bobes of 
 
 cxxv. 
 
 FOR the robes of whiteness, 
 
 O for the tearless eyes ; 
 O for the glorious brightness, 
 Of the unclouded skies ! 
 
 O for the " no more weeping 
 Within the land of love ; 
 
 The endless joy of keeping 
 The bridal feast above ! 
 
 O for the hour of dying, 
 My risen Lord to meet ; 
 
 O for the rest of lying 
 For ever at His feet ! 
 
 O for the bliss of seeing 
 My Saviour face to face ; 
 
 The joy of ever being 
 
 In that sweet meeting-place ! 
 
 Jesus, thou King of Glory, 
 I soon shall dwell with Thee ; 
 
 Soon shall I sing the story 
 Of Thy great love to me. 
 
 Meanwhile my soul would enter, 
 By faith before the throne ; 
 
 And all my love would centre 
 On Thee, and Thee alone. 
 
 * Mrs. Bancroft (C. L. Smith). 
 
Hymns. 245 
 
 10 TBest 
 
 CXXVI. 
 
 way is best, my Father, 
 Though full of pain and care ; 
 Thy will is right, my Father, 
 However hard to bear. 
 Thy path is best, my Father, 
 
 Though far apart from mine ; 
 Thy judgments, O my Father, 
 With truth and mercy shine. 
 
 Thy gifts are best, my Father, 
 
 Though not the gifts I'd choose ; 
 Thy choice is right, my Father, 
 
 Whether I gain or lose. 
 Thy word is good, my Father, 
 
 That bids me live or die ; 
 And I am blest, my Father, 
 
 In bowing silently. 
 
 Thy thoughts are deep, my Father, 
 
 Thy love is calm and wise ; 
 My future life, my Father, 
 
 Unveiled before Thee lies. 
 Thy time is best, my Father, 
 
 Thy purpose to fulfil ; 
 O give me strength, my Father, 
 
 To bow me to Thy will. 
 
 * Mrs. Bancroft (C. Z. Smith), 
 
246 Hymns. 
 
 CXXVII. 
 
 /fT\ MAN of Sorrows ! hast Thou given to me 
 ^*^ The honour thus Thy crown of thorns to wear ? 
 Am I so blest, dear Lord, to follow Thee ? 
 Thy fellowship to share ? 
 
 In dust and ashes at Thy feet I fall 
 
 And clasp my feeble arms around Thy cross ; 
 Henceforth I own Thee as my all, my all, 
 
 And earthly gain but loss. 
 
 This baptism of fire is hard to bear, 
 
 And human hearts will shrink amid the flame ; 
 Yet scourge me, slay me, if I may but share 
 
 The glory of Thy shame. 
 
 Yea, crush this self within me, so shall I 
 
 Exalt Thee, Saviour, to Thy rightful throne ; 
 
 Subdue my will and let this proud heart die 
 To all but Thee alone. 
 
 Be this the single object of my life, 
 
 With self-renouncing love Thy cross to bear ; 
 To be Thy faithful witness in the strife, 
 
 And raise Thy banner there. 
 
 And if at times my spirit shrinks in dread, 
 Or fails beneath the pressure of Thy hand, 
 
 Be the eternal arms beneath my head 
 Within this weary land. 
 
Hymns. 247 
 
 Help me, forsaking all, to follow Thee, 
 With patient love to suffer for Thy sake ; 
 
 And, with a heart from earthly bonds set free, 
 My burden meekly take. 
 
 Thus satisfy me with Thyself alone, 
 
 Tear every idol from my faithless breast ; 
 
 Claim and possess me for Thy own, Thy own, 
 And then I must be blest ! 
 
 * Mrs. Bancroft (C. L. Smith). 
 
 Horn, of Cfip egercp g>eat our Crp, 
 
 CXXVIII. 
 
 , of Thy mercy hear our cry 
 For this long-favour'd land ; 
 That now, as in the days gone by, 
 Her strength may be Thy hand. 
 
 May she her holy lot fulfil, 
 Earth's sanctuary to be ; 
 
 And stand amid the nations still, 
 A witness true to Thee. 
 
 And when the last dread trumpet's sound 
 
 Upon her ear shall ring, 
 Grant that her children may be found 
 
 Prepared to meet their King. 
 
 * Mrs. Toke (Emma Leslie). 
 
248 Hymns. 
 
 HD lorn, Cftoii &notoe.$t all tfje nates. 
 
 CXXIX. 
 
 LORD, Thou knowest all the snares 
 
 That round our pathway be ; 
 Thou know'st that both our joys and cares 
 
 Come between us and Thee ; 
 Thou know'st that our infirmity 
 
 In Thee alone is strong ; 
 To Thee for help and strength we fly ; 
 O let us not go wrong ! 
 
 O bear us up, protect us now 
 
 In dark temptation's hour ; 
 For Thou wast born of woman, Thou 
 
 Hast felt the tempter's power ; 
 All sinless, Thou canst feel for those 
 
 Who strive and suifer long ; 
 'Midst all our weakness, cares, and woes, 
 
 O let us not go wrong. 
 
 * Mrs. Toke (Emma Leslie). 
 
 Cfjoii art gone up on 
 
 cxxx. 
 
 flTHOU art gone up on high, 
 ^^ To mansions in the skies, 
 
 And round Thy throne unceasingly 
 The songs of praise arise. 
 But we are lingering here, 
 With sin and care opprest, 
 
 Lord, send Thy promised Comforter, 
 And lead us to Thy rest. 
 
Hymns. 249 
 
 Thou art gone up on high, 
 
 But Thou didst first come down, 
 Through earth's most bitter agony, 
 
 To pass unto Thy crown ; 
 
 And girt with griefs and fears 
 
 Our onward cause must be ; 
 But only let that path of tears 
 
 Lead us at last to Thee ! 
 
 Thou art gone up on high, 
 
 But Thou shalt come again, 
 With all the bright ones of the sky 
 
 Attendant in Thy train ; 
 
 Oh ! by Thy saving power, 
 
 So make us live and die, 
 That we may stand in that dread hour 
 
 At Thy right hand on high. 
 
 * Mrs. Toke (Emma Leslie). 
 
 (EHoimtieQ ^>ore tfte ^tricfeen l)eart, 
 
 CXXXI. 
 
 [EN wounded sore the stricken heart 
 Lies bleeding and unbound, 
 One only Hand, a pierced Hand, 
 Can salve the sinner's wound. 
 
 When sorrow swells the laden breast, 
 
 And tears of anguish flow, 
 One only Heart, a broken Heart, 
 
 Can feel the sinner's woe. 
 
 When penitential grief has wept 
 
 Over some foul dark spot, 
 One only Stream, a Stream of Blood, 
 
 Can wash away the blot. 
 
250 Hymns. 
 
 Tis JESUS' Blood that washes white, 
 
 His Hand that brings relief; 
 His Heart is touched with all our joys, 
 
 And feels for all our grief. 
 
 Lift up Thy bleeding Hand, O LORD, 
 
 Unseal that cleansing Tide ; 
 We have no shelter from our sin 
 
 But in Thy wounded Side. 
 
 * Mrs. Alexander. 
 
 C6e JRogeate Iwe$ of <arlg Daton, 
 
 CXXXII. 
 
 7JTHE roseate hues of early dawn, 
 ^ The brightness of the day, 
 The crimson of the sunset sky, 
 
 How fast they fade away ! 
 Oh, for the pearly gates of heaven, 
 
 Oh, for the golden floor, 
 Oh, for the Sun of righteousness 
 
 That setteth nevermore ! 
 
 The highest hopes we cherish here, 
 
 How fast they tire and faint ; 
 How many a spot defiles the robe 
 
 That wraps an earthly saint ! 
 Oh, for a heart that never sins, 
 
 Oh, for a soul washed white, 
 Oh, for a voice to praise our King, 
 
 Nor weary day nor night. 
 
 Here faith is ours, and heavenly hope, 
 
 And grace to lead us higher ; 
 But there are perfectness and peace, 
 
 Beyond our best desire. 
 
Hymns. 251 
 
 Oh, by Thy love and anguish, Lord, 
 
 And by Thy life laid down, 
 Grant that we fall not from Thy grace, 
 
 Nor cast away our crown. 
 
 * Mrs. Alexander. 
 
 iJDnce in Kopal DaWs Citp. 
 
 CXXXIII. 
 
 |NCE in royal David's city 
 
 Stood a lowly cattle shed, 
 Where a Mother laid her Baby 
 
 In a manger for His bed ; 
 Mary was that Mother mild, 
 JESUS CHRIST her little Child. 
 
 He came down to earth from heaven 
 Who is GOD and LORD of all, 
 
 And His shelter was a stable, 
 And His cradle was a stall ; 
 
 With the poor, and mean, and lowly, 
 
 Lived on earth our Saviour Holy, 
 
 And, through all His wondrous Childhood, 
 
 He would honour and obey, 
 Love, and watch the lowly Maiden, 
 
 In whose gentle arms He lay ; 
 Christian children all must be 
 Mild, obedient, good as He. 
 
 For He is our childhood's pattern, 
 
 Day by day like us He grew, 
 He was little, weak, and helpless, 
 
 Tears and smiles like us He knew ; 
 And He feeleth for our sadness, 
 And He shareth in our gladness. 
 
252 Hymns. 
 
 And our eyes at last shall see Him, 
 Through His own redeeming love, 
 
 For that Child, so dear and gentle, 
 Is our LORD in heaven above ; 
 
 And He leads His children on 
 
 To the place where He is gone. 
 
 Not in that poor lowly stable, 
 
 With* the oxen standing by, 
 We shall see Him ; but in heaven, 
 
 Set at GOD'S right hand on high ; 
 When, like stars, His children crowned 
 All in white shall wait around. 
 
 * Mrs. Alexander. 
 
 jFrom out t&e Clouo of amber 
 
 CXXXIV. 
 
 4tROM out the cloud of amber light, 
 J' Borne on the whirlwind from the north, 
 Four living creatures wing'd and bright 
 Before the Prophet's eye came forth. 
 
 The voice of God was in the Four 
 Beneath that awful crystal mist, 
 And every wondrous form they wore 
 Foreshadowed an Evangelist. 
 
 The lion-faced, he told abroad 
 The strength of love, the strength of faith , 
 He shewed the Almighty SON of GOD, 
 The Man Divine, Who won by death. 
 
253 
 
 O, Lion of the Royal Tribe, 
 Strong SON of GOD, and strong to save, 
 All power and honour we ascribe 
 To Thee, Who only makest brave. 
 
 For strength to love, for will to speak, 
 For fiery crowns by Martyrs won, 
 For suffering patience, strong and meek, 
 We praise Thee, LORD, and Thee alone. 
 
 * Mrs, Alexander, 
 
 Co Caltmrp, lorn, in Spirit note* 
 
 cxxxv. 
 
 fJTO Calvary, Lord, in spirit now 
 ^^ Our weary souls repair, 
 To dwell upon Thy dying love, 
 And taste its sweetness there. 
 
 Sweet resting-place of every heart 
 
 That feels the plague of sin, 
 Yet knows that deep mysterious joy, 
 
 The peace of God within. 
 
 There, through Thine hour of deepest woe, 
 
 Thy suffering spirit passed ; 
 Grace there its wondrous victory gained, 
 
 And love endured its last. 
 
 Dear, suffering Lamb ! Thy bleeding wounds, 
 
 With cords of love divine, 
 Have drawn our willing hearts to Thee, 
 
 And linked our life with Thine. 
 
254 Hymns. 
 
 Thy sympathies and hopes are ours ; 
 
 Dear Lord ! we wait to see 
 Creation all, below, above 
 
 Redeemed and blest by Thee. 
 
 Our longing eyes would fain behold 
 
 That bright and blessed brow, 
 Once wrung with bitterest anguish, wear 
 
 Its crown of glory now. 
 
 Why linger then ? Come, Saviour, come, 
 
 Responsive to our call ; 
 Come, claim Thine ancient power, and reign, 
 
 The Heir and Lord of all. 
 
 * Sir Edward Denny. 
 
 ligfit of ti)t ilonelp pilgrim's 
 
 CXXXVI. 
 
 of the lonely pilgrim's heart, 
 ft Star of the coming day ! 
 Arise, and with Thy morning beams 
 Chase all our griefs away. 
 
 Come, blessed Lord ! let every shore 
 
 And answering island sing 
 The praises of Thy Royal Name, 
 
 And own Thee as their King. 
 
 Bid the whole earth, responsive now 
 
 To the bright world above, 
 Break forth in rapturous strains of joy 
 
 In memory of Thy love. 
 
Hymns. 255 
 
 Lord, Lord, Thy fair creation groans, 
 The air, the earth, the sea, 
 
 In unison with all our hearts, 
 And calls aloud for Thee. 
 
 Thine was the Cross, with all its fruits 
 Of grace and peace divine : 
 
 Be Thine the crown of glory now, 
 The palm of victory Thine ! 
 
 Sir Edward Denny. 
 
 ffl)ur lorn Cf)ti0t fmtfc Bltsen. 
 
 CXXXVII. 
 
 |UR Lord Christ hath risen ! 
 
 The Tempter is foiled ; 
 His legions are scattered, 
 
 His strongholds are spoiled. 
 O sing Hallelujah ! O sing Hallelujah ! 
 O sing Hallelujah, be joyful and sing, 
 Our great foe is baffled Christ Jesus is King ! 
 
 O death, we defy thee ! 
 A stronger than thou 
 Hath entered thy palace ; 
 We fear thee not now ! 
 O sing Hallelujah ! O sing Hallelujah ! 
 O sing Hallelujah, be joyful and sing, 
 The grave cannot scare us Christ Jesus is King ! 
 
 O sin, thou art vanquished, 
 
 Thy long reign is o'er ; 
 Though still thou dost vex us, 
 
 We dread thee no more. 
 
256 Hymns. 
 
 O sing Hallelujah ! O sing Hallelujah ! 
 O sing Hallelujah, be joyful and sing, 
 Who now can condemn us? Christ Jesus is King ! 
 
 Our Lord Christ hath risen ! 
 
 Day breaketh at last ; 
 The long night of weeping 
 
 Is now well-nigh past. 
 O sing Hallelujah ! O sing Hallelujah ! 
 
 O sing Hallelujah, be joyful and sing, 
 Our foes are all conquered Christ Jesus is King ! 
 
 * Lord Plunket (Bishop of Meath). 
 
 Communion. 
 
 CXXXVIII. 
 
 THOU, from whom no heart is hidden, 
 Thou to whom every thought is known, 
 We come, the guests that Thou hast bidden, 
 The people Thou hast made Thy own. 
 
 Though sin and weakness be our dower, 
 For help, O Lord, we come to Thee : 
 
 We come to eat Thy bread of power, 
 And drink Thy wine of purity. 
 
 To eat the bread that came from heaven, 
 When Christ first drew a human breath : 
 
 To drink the wine that Christ has given 
 In pouring out His soul to death. 
 
 To live the life that first began 
 
 When Christ the vale of sorrow trod ; 
 For Thou, O Son of God, art man, 
 
 And Thou, O Son of Man, art God. 
 
Hymns 257 
 
 Therefore it is that not in vain 
 
 We seek, O Christ, from Thee to win 
 
 A "painless sympathy with pain," 
 A sinless pity for our sin. 
 
 *J.J Murphy. 
 
 JFatfcer, tofjen 31 Seat C&p tiotce* 
 
 CXXXIX. 
 
 dJQY Father ! when I hear Thy voice, 
 *?2/ Its whispers bid my heart rejoice, 
 And darkness from my soul remove 
 " Loved with an everlasting love." 
 
 Though tossed on life's dark stormy wave, 
 Though billows foam and tempests rave, 
 I hear Thy voice the storm above 
 " Loved with an everlasting love." 
 
 When days and nights of mourning come, 
 And sorrow makes my heart her home, 
 These tender words my comfort prove 
 " Loved with an everlasting love." 
 
 Though anguish rack my feeble frame, 
 Thy watchful care is still the same, 
 With this sure hope all doubts remove 
 " Loved with an everlasting love." 
 
 When sore the combat, sharp the strife, 
 These words renew my strength and life 
 " Thou yet shalt more than conqueror prove, 
 Loved with an everlasting love." 
 R 
 
258 Hymns. 
 
 When rough my path, and worn my feet, 
 When fainting 'neath the noontide heat, 
 Still onward, upward, I can move 
 " Loved with an everlasting love." 
 
 And when the tempter's wiles are tried 
 To lure me from my Saviour's side, 
 This thought forbids my feet to rove 
 " Loved with an everlasting love." 
 
 My Father ! in Thy smile of light, 
 This weary waste of earth looks bright ; 
 And this shall be my heaven above 
 " Loved with an everlasting love." 
 
 Isaac Ashe, M.D. 
 
 mp JLotie 10 
 
 CXL. 
 
 my love is failing, 
 Sin and earth prevailing, 
 
 Oh, Lord, remember me ! 
 When my faith is weakest, 
 When the strayed Thou seekest, 
 
 Oh, then remember me ! 
 When my foes endeavour 
 From my Lord to sever 
 This frail heart for ever, 
 
 Still I'll cling to Thee ; 
 Let me never leave Thee, 
 Ne'er disturb or grieve Thee, 
 
 Oh, still remember me ! 
 
Hymns. 259 
 
 When, in hours of sighing, 
 Earth's bright joys are flying, 
 
 Then, Lord, remember me ; 
 In the tomb when laying, 
 Best lov'd forms decaying, 
 
 Oh, Lord, remember me ! 
 When my heart, benighted, 
 Sees each fond hope blighted, 
 When the joys that lighted 
 
 All life's pathway flee ; 
 Let Thy smile to gladness 
 Turn my tears of sadness, 
 
 Then, Lord, remember me ! 
 
 When life's hours are closing, 
 On Thy love reposing, 
 
 Oh, Lord, remember me ! 
 E'en in death's dark river 
 Thou canst save, for ever, 
 
 Then, Lord, remember me ; 
 When from heaven descending, 
 All Thy saints attending, 
 Rocks and mountains rending, 
 
 Earth Her Lord shall see ; 
 When Thy throne Thou gainest, 
 And in glory reignest, 
 
 Then, Lord, remember me ! 
 
 * Isaac Ashe, M.D. 
 
 R 2 
 
260 Hymns. 
 
 3D Sputum Sanctum. 
 
 CXLI. 
 
 OLY Spirit love divine ! 
 
 Come and shed those rays of Thine, 
 From Thy heavenly home. 
 
 Father of the poor and lowly, 
 Giver of good gifts and holy 
 Light of all hearts come. 
 
 Comforter, the best and meetest, 
 Dweller in our souls the sweetest 
 Sweet refresher, Thou. 
 
 Thou that rest in labour givest, 
 That with calm vext hearts relievest, 
 Solace in our woe. 
 
 Light the purest, light divinest, 
 Faithful hearts whereon Thou shinest, 
 Pour Thy radiance in. 
 
 Oh, without Thee, blessed Spirit, 
 Fallen man cannot inherit 
 Aught but stain and sin. 
 
 What is filthy, cleanse and whiten 
 What is parched, Thy soft dew light on 
 Every wound make whole. 
 
 Bend each rigid stubborn feeling ; 
 Warm whate'er is cold and chilling ; 
 Guide each wandering soul. 
 
Hymns. 261 
 
 To those in the faith abiding, 
 To those in the power confiding, 
 Thy sabbath rest be given. 
 
 Give the crown of holy living, 
 And the death of God's saints giving 
 Endless joys of heaven. 
 
 * John Francis Wallet, LL.D. 
 
 Cfmst our >im on us arose 
 
 CXLII. 
 
 CHRIST our Sun on us arose, 
 ^ From His glory fled onr foes, 
 CHRIST our Sun from us is gone, 
 And our hearts were faint and wan. 
 Thirsty yearned we for His grace, 
 Weary watched we for His Face, 
 While the bare and lonely shrine, 
 Waited for the Guest Divine. 
 
 Alleluia ! Alleluia ! 
 
 Joy hath come to earth again, 
 Downward poured the SPIRIT'S rain, 
 And the rushing wind of might, 
 Swept away the clouds of night. 
 She whom weary years before, 
 In His love He hovered o'er, 
 Mother, Daughter, Spouse of GOD, 
 Chants anew her song of laud. 
 
 Alleluia ! Alleluia ! 
 
262 Hymns. 
 
 And the Apostolic choir, 
 Glowing with the tongues of fire, 
 Clearer now and joyous raise, 
 CHRIST their Monarch's endless praise. 
 He hath let His Breath go forth, 
 And renewed the face of earth, 
 Bid the brook a river be, 
 And the river made a sea. 
 
 Alleluia ! Alleluia ! 
 
 From the snows where Scythians toil, 
 To Cyrene's thirsty soil, 
 From the Indian's distant home, 
 To the gates of mighty Rome, 
 Alleluia ! raise the song, 
 Raise it high, and raise it long, 
 To the FATHER, and the WORD, 
 And the SPIRIT, GOD adored. 
 
 Alleluia ! Alleluia ! 
 
 * Rev. R. F. Littledale, LL.D. 
 
 3(e0u, most lotitng 2Dne. 
 
 CXLIII. 
 
 OJESU, most loving One, who from Thy glory's throne 
 -3J Camest to seek the sheep roaming astray, 
 JESU, Thou sweetest Guest, JESU, Thou Shepherd best, 
 Draw my heart after Thee, now and for aye. 
 
 I who have lost my way, I am that sheep astray, 
 Save me, CHRIST JESU, from peril of hell, 
 
 And in the gushing flood of Thy most precious Blood 
 Wash me, that cleansed I may cherish Thee well. 
 
Hymns. 263 
 
 Comfort of weeping eyes, Thou the soul's sweetest prize, 
 Fount of grace, love, and sole gladness below, 
 
 SAVIOUR, with Whom is rest, JESU, Thou Shepherd best, 
 After death save me, and guard from the foe. 
 
 JESU, Thou fairest here, Bridegroom most true and dear, 
 Brighter than sunshine, than honey more sweet, 
 
 Grant me, O LORD, Thy grace, give Thy lost sheep a place 
 When life is ended, in joy at Thy feet. 
 
 * Rev. R. F. Littledale, LL.D. 
 
 toitf) mg Loan of 
 
 CXLIV. 
 
 0f7T|EARY with my load of sin, 
 ***M All diseased and faint within, 
 See me, Lord, Thy grace entreat, 
 See me prostrate at Thy feet : 
 Here before Thy Cross I lie, 
 Here I live or here I die. 
 
 I have tried, and tried in vain, 
 Many ways to ease my pain ; 
 Now all other hope is past, 
 Only this is left at last : 
 Here before Thy Cross I lie, 
 Here I live or here I die. 
 
 If I perish, be it here, 
 With the Friend of Sinners near. 
 Lord, it is enough I know 
 Never sinner perished so : 
 Here before Thy Cross I lie, 
 Here I cannot, cannot die. 
 
 Rev. Wade Robinson, C.M. 
 
264 Hymns. 
 
 toill 
 
 CXLV. 
 
 /[gREAT JEHOVAH ! we will praise Thee, 
 ^^ Earth and heaven Thy will obey ; 
 Suns and systems move obedient 
 To Thy universal sway. 
 
 Deep and awful are Thy counsels, 
 High and glorious is Thy throne ; 
 
 Reigning o'er Thy vast dominion, 
 Thou art God, and Thou alone. 
 
 In Thy wondrous condescension, 
 Thou hast stooped to raise our race ; 
 
 Thou hast given to us a Saviour 
 Full of goodness and of grace. 
 
 By His blood we are forgiven, 
 
 By His intercession free, 
 By His life we rise to glory, 
 
 There to reign eternally. 
 
 God of Power we bow before Thee ; 
 
 God of Wisdom Thee we praise ; 
 God of Love so kind and tender, 
 
 We would praise Thee all our days. 
 
 Praise to Thee our Loving Father ; 
 
 Praise to Thee Redeeming Son ; 
 Praise to Thee Almighty Spirit ; 
 
 Praise to Thee Thou Holy One. 
 
 * Rev. John White, C.M. 
 
Hymns. 265 
 
 CXLVI. 
 
 cometh, wanes the night, 
 ** Dawns the day that endeth never ; 
 Gird your loins, ye sons of light, 
 Darkness fades and flees for ever : 
 In the East His sign appears, 
 Crown of all the coming years. 
 
 Through the skies a voice is heard, 
 
 Trumpet-tongued, more deep than thunder ; 
 Tis Jehovah's mighty word, 
 
 Kindreds, nations, hear and wonder ! 
 Spread the tidings far and wide, 
 Triumphs now the CRUCIFIED, 
 
 Fair as early morning-beams, 
 
 O'er the countless dew-drops shining, 
 Wake the saints from peaceful dreams, 
 Slumber and the grave resigning : 
 
 Glad they rise, their Lord to meet, 
 Follow to the judgment-seat. 
 
 Deep the awe, the fear, the joy, 
 
 Now the Son of man surrounding 
 Highest Angel-hosts employ 
 
 All their powers His name resounding 
 Christ they praise, with one accord 
 Christ the Saviour, Christ the Lord ! 
 
 Oh ! when round the throne we stand 
 
 On that glorious Advent-morning, 
 Gazing on Thy brow, Thy hand, 
 
 Clothed with radiance, raised in warning, 
 Jesu ! may Thy smile of love 
 Our eternal gladness prove. 
 
 * Canon Macllwaine. 
 
266 Hymns. 
 
 CXLVII. 
 
 KING, most meek, most lowly, 
 
 O Child, how wondrous fair ! 
 O humble roof, yet holy, 
 For angels worship there. 
 
 'Neath Thee the Virgin mother 
 Folds in her arms of love, 
 
 That new-born babe, no other 
 Than His who reigns above. 
 
 Shine, Star ! of all the fairest 
 That grace the Eastern sky ; 
 
 Bring gifts the noblest, rarest, 
 That richest realms supply. 
 
 Come, wonder and adore Him, 
 Come, render homage meet ; 
 
 Earth's wisest bow before Him, 
 Fall lowly at His feet. 
 
 Oh ! height of love, transcending 
 Thy star-encircled throne, 
 
 Smile on us, as here bending 
 We worship Thee alone. 
 
 Bright streak of heavenly promise, 
 Amidst our darkest night ; 
 
 Shine on, nor e'er hide from us, 
 Thy cheering, guiding light. 
 
 Canon Macllwaine. 
 
Hymns, 267 
 
 CXLVIII. 
 
 OLL back, ye bars of light, 
 
 Wide open, gates of glory ; 
 All heaven, behold the sight, 
 Attend the wondrous story : 
 Ye angels hosts that crowd 
 Around the Conqueror's car, 
 Proclaim His praise aloud, 
 Whose mighty ones ye are. 
 
 Rise, saints the Lord to meet, 
 
 To praise and to adore Him ; 
 Come, worship at His feet, 
 
 And cast your crowns before Him. 
 Lift up your heads, ye gates, 
 And let the Victor in ; 
 Eternal triumph waits 
 The Vanquisher of sin. 
 
 At morn the Saviour rose, 
 
 Like giant from His slumber ; 
 Fled all His mighty foes, 
 
 Though countless was their number ; 
 Death and the gloomy grave 
 Have yielded up their prey ; 
 Almighty now to save, 
 On high He takes His way. 
 
 Ride on, ride on, O Lord, 
 
 The golden gates enfold Thee ; 
 In highest heaven adored 
 
 Our eyes may not behold Thee : 
 Yet hear, oh ! hear our praise, 
 Great Saviour, God and King, 
 As thus our hymn we raise, 
 Our heart's devotions bring. 
 
 * Canon Macllwaine. 
 
z68 Hymns. 
 
 CXLIX. 
 
 ^J LL bounteous Lord of harvest, 
 **' Beneath whose gracious hand 
 A thousand hills, rejoicing, 
 
 Spread blessing o'er our land ; 
 The clouds above drop fatness, 
 
 The valleys sing below, 
 While wave the sheaves, bright golden, 
 
 The streams in gladness flow. 
 
 All praise to Thee, Creator ! 
 
 Thy tender love and pow'r 
 Still clothe the grass with verdure, 
 
 With fairest hues the flow'r : 
 All praise to Thee, Preserver ! 
 
 Thy ceaseless guardian care 
 Spreads wide its shade and shelter 
 
 O'er earth, and sea, and air. 
 
 From Thee the dew descended, 
 
 From thee the gentle rain, 
 Thine was the sun that ripen'd 
 
 Each bending field of grain : 
 Thou crownest with Thy gladness 
 
 This joyous Autumn-tide ; 
 While peace and smiling plenty 
 
 O'er all our homes preside. 
 
 Praise for our labour ended, 
 
 For barn and store-house filled ! 
 Praise for the ripe fruits gather'd 
 
 From fields that labour tilled ! 
 And when Time's course is over, 
 
 Life's day of travail past, 
 May we be safely garner'd 
 
 With Christ's own sheaves at last ! 
 
 * Canon Macllwaine, 
 
Jsacrefc 
 
 Jjjgmn of t&e 
 
 CL. 
 
 OLL on, thou SUN ! in glory roll, 
 
 Thou Giant, rushing through the 
 
 Heaven, 
 Creation's wonder, Nature's soul, 
 
 That hast no Morn, and hast no 
 
 Even; 
 The Planets die without thy blaze; 
 
 The Cherubim, with star-dropt wing, 
 Float on the ocean of thy rays, 
 
 Thou brightest emblem of their 
 King! 
 
 Roll, lovely EARTH, in night and noon, 
 
 With Ocean's band of beauty bound, 
 While one sweet orb, the pearly Moon, 
 
 Pursues thee through the blue profound ; 
 And angels, with delighted eyes, 
 
 Behold thy plains, and mounts, and streams, 
 In day's magnificence of dyes, 
 
 Swift whirling, like transcendent dreams. 
 
270 Sacred Lyrics. 
 
 Roll, PLANETS, on your dazzling road, 
 
 For ever sweeping round the Sun ; 
 What eye beheld, when first ye glowed ? 
 
 What eye shall see your courses done ? 
 Roll, in your solemn majesty, 
 
 Ye deathless splendours of the skies, 
 Ye Altars, from which angels see 
 
 The incense of Creation rise. 
 
 Roll, COMETS, on your flaming cars, 
 
 Ye heralds of sublimer skies ; 
 Roll on, ye million-million STARS, 
 
 Ye hosts, ye heavens of galaxies ! 
 Ye, who the wilds of Nature roam, 
 
 Unknown to all but angels' wings, 
 Tell us, in what more glorious dome, 
 
 Rules all your worlds the KING OF KINGS ? 
 
 Rev. George Croly, LL.D. 
 
 (ZEtiemng 
 
 CLI. 
 
 ELL us, thou glorious STAR of Eve ! 
 
 What sees thine eye ? 
 Wherever human hearts can heave, 
 
 Man's misery ! 
 Life, but a weary chain, 
 Manhood, weak, wild, and vain, 
 Age, but a lingering pain, 
 Longing to die ! 
 
 Tell us, thou glorious STAR of Eve, 
 
 Sees not thine eye 
 Some spot where hearts no longer heave, 
 
 In thine own sky ? 
 
Sacred Lyrics. 271 
 
 Where all life's dreams are o'er, 
 Where bosoms bleed no more, 
 Where injured Spirits soar, 
 Never to die. 
 
 Rev. George Croly, LL.D. 
 
 a Dirge* 
 
 CLII. 
 
 "(tit ARTH to earth, and dust to dust!" 
 
 ^ Here the evil and the just, 
 Here the youthful and the old, 
 Here the fearful and the bold ; 
 Here the matron and the maid 
 In one silent bed are laid ; 
 Here the warrior and the king, 
 Side by side, lie withering : 
 Glory, but a broken bust : 
 " Earth to earth, and dust to dust !" 
 
 Age on age shall roll along 
 O'er this pale and mighty throng ; 
 Those that wept them, those that weep, 
 All shall with the sleepers sleep ; 
 Prince and peasant, lord and slave, 
 Moving onward, wave on wave, 
 Till they reach the sullen shore, 
 Where their murmurings are o'er. 
 Here the spade, and sceptre, rust : 
 " Earth to earth, and dust to dust !" 
 
 But, a day is coming fast, 
 Earth, thy mightiest and thy last 
 ALL shall see the Judgment-Sign, 
 On the clouds the CROSS shall shine ; 
 
272 Sacred Lyrics. 
 
 Angel-myriads on the wing ; 
 Earth upgazing on its King \ 
 Heaven revealed to mortal sight, 
 Earth enshrined in living light ; 
 Kingdom of the ransomed Just ! 
 " Earth to earth, and dust to dust !" 
 
 Then shall dawn immortal day ; 
 Death and Sin no more have sway ; 
 Then shall in the Desert rise 
 Fruits of more than Paradise ; 
 Earth by angel-feet be trod, 
 One great Garden of her God. 
 Earth no more the vale of tears, 
 Satan chained a thousand years. 
 Now in hope of HIM we trust : 
 " Earth to earth, and dust to dust !" 
 
 Rev. George Croly, LL.D. 
 
 art, > 
 
 CLIII. 
 
 flT HOU art, O GOD, the life and light 
 ^*^ Of all this wondrous world we see ; 
 Its glow by day, its smile by night, 
 
 Are but reflections caught from Thee. 
 Where'er we turn, Thy glories shine, 
 And all things fair and bright are Thine ! 
 
 When Day, with farewell beam delays 
 Among the op'ning clouds of Even, 
 
 And we can almost think we gaze 
 
 Through golden vistas into Heaven 
 
 Those hues that make the Sun's decline 
 
 So soft, so radiant, LORD ! are Thine. 
 
Sacred Lyrics. 273 
 
 When Night, with wings of starry gloom, 
 
 O'ershadows all the earth and skies, 
 Like some dark, beauteous bird, whose plume 
 
 Is sparkling with unnumber'd eyes 
 That sacred gloom, those fires divine, 
 So grand, so countless, LORD ! are Thine. 
 
 When youthful Spring around us breathes, 
 
 Thy Spirit warms her fragrant sigh ; 
 And every flower the Summer wreathes 
 
 Is borne beneath that kindling eye. 
 Where'er we turn. Thy glories shine, 
 And all things bright and fair are Thine ! 
 
 Thomas Moore. 
 
 IBirD let noose. 
 
 CLIV. 
 
 bird, let loose in eastern skies, 
 When hast'ning fondly home, 
 Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies 
 
 Where idle warblers roam ; 
 But high she shoots through air and light, 
 
 Above all low delay, 
 
 Where nothing earthly bounds her flight, 
 Nor shadow dims her way. 
 
 So grant me, GOD, from every care 
 
 And stain of passion free, 
 Aloft, through Virtue's purer air, 
 
 To hold my course to Thee ! 
 No sin to cloud, no lure to stay 
 
 My Soul, as home she springs ; 
 Thy Sunshine on her joyful way, 
 
 Thy Freedom in her wings ! 
 
 Thomas Moore. 
 
274 Sacred Lyrics. 
 
 2D&, C&ou! tofjo flrp^t t&e 
 
 CLV. 
 
 }H, Thou ! who dry'st the mourner's tear, 
 
 How dark this world would be, 
 If, when deceived and wounded here, 
 
 We could not fly to Thee ! 
 The friends, who in our sunshine live, 
 
 When winter comes, are flown ; 
 And he who has but tears to give, 
 
 Must weep those tears alone. 
 But Thou wilt heal that broken heart, 
 
 Which, like the plants that throw 
 Their fragrance from the wounded part, 
 
 Breathes sweetness out of woe. 
 
 When joy no longer soothes or cheers, 
 
 And even the hope that threw 
 A moment's sparkle o'er our tears, 
 
 Is dimmed and vanished too, 
 Oh ! who would bear life's stormy doom, 
 
 Did not Thy Wing of Love 
 Come, brightly wafting through the gloom 
 
 Our Peace-branch from above? 
 Then sorrow, touched by Thee, grows bright 
 
 With more than rapture's ray ; 
 As darkness shows us worlds of light 
 
 We never saw by day ! 
 
 Thomas Moore. 
 
Sacred Lyrics. 275 
 
 not tfte sinful sharp's Cears. 
 
 CLVI. 
 
 f?r|ERE not the sinful Mary's tears 
 W* An offering worthy Heaven, 
 When, o'er the faults of former years, 
 She wept and was forgiven ? 
 
 When, bringing every balmy sweet 
 
 Her day of luxury stored, 
 She o'er her Saviour's hallowed feet 
 
 The precious odours poured ; 
 
 And wiped them with that golden hair 
 Where once the diamond shone ; 
 
 Though now those gems of grief were there 
 Which shine for GOD alone ! 
 
 Were not those sweets, so humbly shed 
 That hair those weeping eyes 
 
 And the sunk heart, that inly bled 
 Heaven's noblest sacrifice ? 
 
 Thou, that hast slept in error's sleep, 
 Oh ! wouldst thou wake in Heaven, 
 
 Like Mary kneel, like Mary weep, 
 " Love much" and be forgiven ! 
 
 Thomas Moore. 
 
276 Sacred Lyrics. 
 
 Cfjere is a TBleaft Desert* 
 
 CLVII. 
 
 HERE is a bleak Desert, where daylight grows weary 
 Of wasting its smile on a region so dreary 
 
 What may that desert be ? 
 
 Tis Life, cheerless Life, where the few joys that come 
 Are lost like that daylight, for 'tis not their home. 
 
 There is a lone Pilgrim, before whose faint eyes 
 The water he pants for but sparkles and flies 
 
 Who may that Pilgrim be? 
 
 'Tis Man, helpless Man, through this life tempted on 
 By fair shining hopes, that in shining are gone. 
 
 There is a bright Fountain, through that Desert stealing 
 To pure lips alone its refreshment revealing 
 
 What may that Fountain be ? 
 
 'Tis Truth, holy Truth, that, like springs under ground, 
 By the gifted of Heaven alone can be found. 
 
 There is a fair Spirit, whose wand hath the spell 
 To point where those waters in secrecy dwell 
 
 Who may that Spirit may ? 
 
 'Tis Faith, humble Faith, who hath learned that, where'er 
 Her wand bends to worship, the Truth must be there ! 
 
 Thomas Moore. 
 
Sacred Lyrics. 277 
 
 angel of Cfmritp, 
 
 CLVIII. 
 
 2f NGEL of Charity, who, from above, 
 * Comest to dwell a pilgrim here, 
 Thy voice is music, thy smile is love, 
 
 And Pity's soul is in thy tear. 
 When on the shrine of GOD were laid 
 
 First-fruits of all most good and fair, 
 That ever bloomed in Eden's shade, 
 
 Thine was the holiest offering there. 
 
 Hope and her sister, Faith, were given 
 
 But as our guides to yonder sky ; 
 Soon as they reach the verge of heaven, 
 
 There, lost in perfect bliss, they die ; 
 But, long as Love, Almighty Love, 
 
 Shall on His throne of thrones abide, 
 Thou, Charity, shalt dwell above, 
 
 Smiling for ever by His side ! 
 
 Thomas Moore. 
 
 to t&e 
 
 CLIX. 
 
 Dove, that homeward winging 
 O'er endless waves thy lonely way, 
 Now hither bend'st thee, bringing 
 The long-sought olive spray; 
 
 * The Editor is indebted to D. F. MacCarthy, Esq., for bringing 
 under his notice the above Lyric. It is not included in the collected 
 edition of Moore's works, but appears with other sacred songs, set to 
 music by Sir John Stephenson, arranged by John Goss, Organist of S. 
 Paul's, and published by Longmans, London, in 1859. 
 
278 Sacred Lyrics. 
 
 Thou tell'st us Love still reigns above, 
 That God doth not His own forget, 
 
 That mercy's dawn, upspringing, 
 Will light the lost world yet ! 
 
 And see, in heav'n ascending 
 
 The radiant bow of Peace unfurled, 
 Like Love's bright arms extending, 
 
 To clasp a weeping world. 
 Hail, union bright of mist and light, 
 
 True type of sinners' hopes and fears, 
 When light celestial, blending, 
 
 Draws glory out of tears. 
 
 Thomas Moore. 
 
 ! if t&e atfieist's tootD0 toete Crue, 
 
 CLX. 
 
 |H ! if the Atheist's words were true, 
 
 If those we seek to save 
 Sink and in sinking from our view 
 
 Are lost beyond the grave ! 
 If life thus closed how dark and drear 
 Would this bewildered earth appear, 
 
 Scarce worth the dust it gave, 
 A tract of black sepulchral gloom, 
 One yawning, ever-opening tomb. 
 
 Blest be that strain of high belief, 
 
 More heaven-like, more sublime, 
 Which says, that souls that part in grief, 
 
 Part only for a time ! 
 That far beyond this speck of pain, 
 Far o'er the glooming grave's domain, 
 
 There spreads a brighter clime, 
 Where care and toil, and trouble o'er, 
 Friends meet, and, meeting, weep no more. 
 
 Thomas Furlong. 
 
Sacred Lyrics. 279 
 
 panting: flies tfce fwntet) J)inD, 
 
 CLXI. 
 
 ^f S panting flies the hunted hind, 
 ^* where brooks refreshing stray ; 
 And rivers through the valley wind, 
 That stop the hunter's way. 
 
 Thus we, O Lord, alike distrest, 
 
 For streams of mercy long ; 
 Streams which cheer the sore opprest 
 
 And overwhelm the strong. 
 
 Oliver Goldsmith. 
 
 Carolan'0 Praper. 
 
 (TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL IRISH.) 
 CLXII. 
 
 KING of wounds ! O Son of Heaven ! who died 
 
 Upon the Cross to save the things of clay ; 
 O Thou whose veins poured forth the crimson tide, 
 
 To wash the stains of fallen man away ; 
 O Thou whose heart did feel the blind one's spear, 
 While down to earth the atoning current flowed ; 
 Deign, gracious Lord ! Thy creature's cry to hear ! 
 Shield me, and snatch me to Thy bright abode. 
 
 Carolan. 
 
280 Sacred Lyrics. 
 
 HortJ, manp times 31 am atoearg Ctuite. 
 
 CLXIII. 
 
 , many times I am aweary quite 
 Of mine own self, my sin, my vanity 
 Yet be not Thou, or I am lost outright, 
 Weary of me. 
 
 And hate against myself I often bear, 
 
 And enter with myself in fierce debate : 
 Take Thou my part against myself, nor share 
 In that just hate. 
 
 Best friends might loathe us, if what things perverse 
 
 We know of our own selves, they also know : 
 Lord, Holy One ! if Thou who knowest worse 
 Shouldst loathe us too ! 
 
 * Archbishop Trench. 
 
 CLXIV. 
 
 waves, waves, 
 
 Graceful arches lit with night's pale gold, 
 Boom like thunder through the mountain rolled, 
 Hiss, and make their music manifold, 
 Sing, and work for God along the strand. 
 
 Leaves, leaves, leaves, 
 Beautified by Autumn's withering breath, 
 Ivory skeletons carven fair by death, 
 Float and drift at a sublime command. 
 
Sacred Lyrics. 281 
 
 Thoughts, thoughts, thoughts, 
 Beating wave-like on the mind's strange shore, 
 Rustling leaf-like through it evermore 
 O that they might follow God's good hand ! 
 
 * Bishop Alexander. 
 
 Creation. 
 
 CLXV. 
 
 '/fit RE the lonely pow'r of night 
 ^"' From her ancient realm was hurled, 
 From the throne of living light 
 Burst a voice, " Exist, O World!" 
 
 Awful rolled the solemn sound, 
 Swift arose the new-born earth, 
 
 Deep within the vast profound, 
 Ocean trembled into birth ! 
 
 Then amid the realms of space, 
 Blazed the splendid orb of day, 
 
 Earth unveiled her youthful face, 
 Glitt'ring in his purple ray. 
 
 Glorious through the glowing sky, 
 Shone the starry host above, 
 
 Angels shouted forth for joy, 
 Rapt in ecstacy and love. 
 
 Through the heavens triumphant ran 
 Sounds of glory and of praise, 
 
 Wond'ring at his being, Man 
 
 Rose and joined the grateful lays. 
 
282 Sacred Lyrics. 
 
 Who was he, what mighty God 
 Bade the reign of darkness cease, 
 
 At the terror of whose nod, 
 Frighted chaos sunk to peace ? 
 
 Why before his dreadful Word, 
 Fled these eldest-born of things ? 
 
 'Twas the Everlasting Lord ! 
 'Twas Jehovah, King of Kings ! 
 
 High enthroned, above all height, 
 Glorious in the bright abodes, 
 
 Clothed in honour, robed in light, 
 Dwells this awful God of Gods ! 
 
 James Stuart, LL.D. 
 
 CLXVI. 
 
 )'ER Heaven's pure arch, a star of living light, 
 Streaming with glory, took its brilliant way ; 
 Pointing the joyous travellers' path aright, 
 
 To where the King of Kings, an infant, lay : 
 Whilst Angels raised the solemn song above 
 Whose breath is music, and whose voice is love. 
 
 Oh ! 'twas a strain, more soothing and sublime 
 Than e'er before had met the ear of Man 
 
 Since, stained and tarnished by primeval crime, 
 His race of misery and guilt began ; 
 
 And Pleasure's lure, and Passion's fierce control, 
 
 In sin and anguish plunged his erring soul. 
 
Sacred Lyrics. 283 
 
 " Glory to God on highest and on earth 
 
 Peace and good-will to Man are freely given 
 
 This hour is hallowed by Salvation's birth 
 O hail with trembling joy the boon of Heaven ! 
 
 With ardent faith salute this happy morn 
 
 The King of Kings, the Lord of Lords is born !" 
 
 He comes not clothed in majesty and light, 
 Such as enrobe " the God of Gods" alone, 
 
 When Seraphs scarcely bear the vision bright, 
 But veil their eyes before the eternal throne ; 
 
 Nor, as when clad in Terror's awful form, 
 
 He walks on wings of wind in thunder and in storm. 
 
 Not so With aspect all benign and mild, 
 
 The humble infant in a manger lies ; 
 The virgin-mother views her heaven-sent child, 
 
 With tears of rapture sparkling in her eyes. 
 She reads the smile that lightens o'er his face 
 Prelude of pardon to the human race. 
 
 Helpless He seems yet this is He whose voice 
 Shall rouse the nations from the yawning grave ; 
 
 Then shall His people in His power rejoice, 
 For He is mighty to destroy or save. 
 
 All Hell shall tremble, while the Saints adore, 
 And Time yea, Death himself shall be no more. 
 
 The earth the Sun shall melt in liquid fire 
 
 The Moon shall cease to run her peerless race 
 The starry host in splendour shall expire, 
 
 And leave no traces in the realm of space ! 
 Angels shall gaze upon the vacant scene, 
 And, wrapt in wonder, ask "Where have their 
 orbits been?" 
 
 James Stuart, LL.D. 
 
284 Sacred Lyrics. 
 
 lotie of 
 
 CLXVII. 
 
 deep affection's troubled hour 
 When sorrow rules the breast, 
 And earthly soothing hath no power 
 
 To quiet its unrest 
 When mirth but maketh jarring din, 
 And all is heaviness within ; 
 
 To Thee we fly, oh, God ! to Thee, 
 
 When all denies relief, 
 And still more tremulously flee 
 
 In storms of deeper grief 
 While all around to darkness turns, 
 Thy inward light more brightly burns. 
 
 Thy love which passeth mortal sense 
 To sooth, enlighten, save 
 
 Through life sustaining Providence 
 Redemption in the grave ; 
 
 Without it, life is idle breath, 
 
 Without it, terrible is death. 
 
 Rev. y. Wills, D.D. 
 
 CLXVIII. 
 
 TTTTJHEN late on life's departed years 
 ^^*" The scenes and seasons past 
 Their hopes and joys their cares and fears, 
 A lingering glance I cast ; 
 
Sacred Lyrics. 285 
 
 And mark how oft hopes fondly nursed 
 
 Have dealt affliction's blow 
 How oft from sorrow's cloud hath burst 
 
 A pure and heavenly glow ! 
 
 How oft a moment changed the scene, 
 
 When keenest grew distress, 
 How disappointment oft hath been 
 
 The path to joyfulness ; 
 Methinks I see Heaven's hand import 
 
 The expedient good to all 
 In time depress the o'er-worldly heart, 
 
 And raise up hearts that fall. 
 
 I gazed on Time's long page ; the same 
 
 All guiding spirit still, 
 Through all o'er-ruled with changeless aim 
 
 The turns of good and ill ; 
 One hand, with unseen touch, combined 
 
 The parts of mercy's plan, 
 Links of the eternal chain designed 
 
 For benefit to man. 
 
 Rev. J. Wills, D.D. 
 
 Dn tbe Deatf) of an 3[nfant 
 
 CLXIX. 
 
 T breathes no more ! one low drawn sigh, 
 
 One transient thrill ; 
 And purely pale those features lie, 
 And dreadly still. 
 
 I've seen the violet wither so 
 
 In April's sun, 
 But never dreamt this sight of woe, 
 
 My precious onej 
 
286 Sacred Lyrics. 
 
 From thy sweet lip the smile is flown, 
 
 Thy life's young light 
 Hath left, where loveliest it shone, 
 
 For death's pale night. 
 
 Thy little hand hath ceased the strife 
 
 Of infant play ; 
 Each wonted sign of thy sweet life, 
 
 Oh ! past away. 
 
 And yet, and yet, dear babe, 'tis well 
 
 For thee to go ; 
 For mournful is their lot who dwell 
 
 E'er long below. 
 
 Thy woes were light, to their sad wail, 
 
 Who live to see 
 Their bosom's treasure thus lie pale 
 
 And cold like thee ! 
 
 Thy dewy tears were quickly dried, 
 
 Thy pains are o'er ; 
 Thou'rt gone, dear babe, where they abide 
 
 Who die no more ! 
 
 To thee this world of woe to tread, 
 
 It was not given ; 
 Thou art above with Him who said, 
 
 Of such is Heaven ! 
 
 The love bereaved, unblest desire, 
 
 Privation, strife ; 
 The waste of toil, affliction, ire, 
 
 That make up life ; 
 
Sacred Lyrics. 287 
 
 The saddening loss, the sordid gain, 
 
 The world's control, 
 Ne'er left one sorrow or one stain 
 
 On thy sweet soul. 
 
 Yet undisclosed the primal taint 
 
 Slept in thy breast ; 
 More pure than thee no martyr'd saint 
 
 Ere went to rest. 
 
 Than thou, no brighter from death's sleep 
 
 Shall break the tomb, 
 When the last trump peals on the deep 
 
 Its note of doom. 
 
 And, if the dead Redeemed arise 
 
 Ere that dread morn, 
 Wilt thou first greet thy mother's eyes 
 
 From death new-born ? 
 
 And shall the smile she loved first break 
 
 The death-vale's air, 
 O ! shall thy voice in Heaven first speak 
 
 Her welcome there ? 
 
 * Mrs. Wills. 
 
 Coming Dap. 
 
 CLXX. 
 
 )H, seek not that the world should know 
 
 Thy deeds of love and grace ; 
 The day will come, when friend and foe 
 Shall see thee face to face. 
 
288 Sacred Lyrics. 
 
 Thy Saviour then, will bring them forth 
 Washed in His sacred blood ; 
 
 Then shall thy deeds acquire a worth, 
 And God pronounce them good. 
 
 But if thou claim man's plaudits still 
 
 For all that man can see, 
 Search inward for the secret ill, 
 
 The lurking vanity. 
 
 Though love of souls impel thine act, 
 
 Look narrowly within 
 Lest self should triumph, pride detract, 
 
 And taint the work with sin. 
 
 It is~a shameful thing to boast, 
 
 As if we worked alone, 
 And to forget the fearful cost 
 
 By which that grace was won. 
 
 Work on in silence for the Lord, 
 
 Work, work, while yet 'tis day 
 Stay not thy hand to speed His word, 
 
 Nor let thy foot delay. 
 
 The time is short, the hands are few, 
 
 The harvest ripening fast ; 
 Work with the glorious end in view, 
 
 Where'er thy lot be cast. 
 
 Each step will ease the heaviest weight, 
 
 While striving for the crown, 
 Till, entering the eternal gate, 
 
 Thou'lt lay thy burden down. 
 
 * Mrs. Wills. 
 
Sacred Lyrics. 289 
 
 Peeking OD, 
 
 CLXXI. 
 
 SAID, " I will find God," and forth I went 
 
 To seek Him in the clearness of the sky, 
 But over me stood unendurably 
 Only a pitiless, sapphire firmament 
 Ringing the world, blank splendour ; yet intent 
 Still to find God, " I will go seek," said I, 
 " His way upon the waters," and drew nigh 
 An ocean marge weed-strewn, and foam-besprent ; 
 And the waves dashed on idle sand and stone, 
 And very vacant was the long, blue sea ; 
 But in the evening as I sat alone, 
 My window open to the vanishing day, 
 Dear God ! I could not choose but kneel and pray, 
 And it sufficed that I was found of Thee. 
 
 * JS. JDowden. 
 
 Communion* 
 
 CLXXII. 
 
 , I have knelt and tried to pray to-night, 
 But Thy love came upon me like a sleep, 
 And all desire died out ; upon the deep 
 Of Thy mere love I lay, each thought in light 
 Dissolving like the sunset clouds, at rest 
 Each tremulous wish, and my strength, weakness, sweet 
 As a sick boy with soon o'erwearied feet 
 Finds, yielding him unto his mother's breast 
 To weep for weakness there. I could not pray, 
 But with closed eyes I felt Thy bosom's love 
 Beating toward mine, and then I would not move 
 Till of itself the joy should pass away ; 
 At last my heart found voice, " Take me, O Lord, 
 And do with me according to Thy word." 
 
 * E. Dowden, 
 
290 Sacred Lyrics. 
 
 a Bonnet for tfje Cimes* 
 
 CLXXIII. 
 
 TfTTJHAT ! weeping ? Had ye your Christ yesterday, 
 
 ^^* Close wound with linen, made your own by tears, 
 
 Kisses, and pounds of myrrh, the sepulchre's 
 
 Mere stone most venerable ? And now ye say 
 
 " No man hath seen him, he is borne away 
 
 We wot not where." And so, with many a sigh, 
 
 Watching the linen clothes and napkin lie, 
 
 Ye choose about the grave's sad mouth to stay. 
 
 Blind hearts ! Why seek the living amongst the dead ? 
 
 Better than carols for the babe new-born 
 
 The shining young men's speech " He is not here ;" 
 
 Why question where the feet lay, where the head ? 
 
 Come forth ; bright o'er the world breaks Easter morn, 
 
 He is arisen, Victor o'er grief and fear. 
 
 * E. Dowden. 
 
 <ZEmmau0toarix 
 
 CLXXIV. 
 
 3TORD CHRIST, if Thou art with us and these eyes 
 
 ^^ Are holden, while we go sadly and say 
 
 " We hoped it had been He, and now to-day 
 
 Is the third day, and hope within us dies," 
 
 Bear with us, Oh, our Master, Thou art wise 
 
 And knowest our foolishness ; we do not pray 
 
 " Declare thyself, since weary grows the way, 
 
 And faith's new burden hard upon us lies." 
 
 Nay, choose Thy time ; but ah ! whoe'er Thou art 
 
 Leave us not ; where have we heard any voice 
 
 Like Thine ? Our hearts burn in us as we go ; 
 
 Stay with us ; break our bread ; so, for our part 
 
 Ere darkness falls haply we may rejoice, 
 
 Haply when day has been far spent may know. 
 
 * E. Dowden. 
 
Sacred Lyrics. 291 
 
 get Dne 
 
 CLXXV 
 
 10ET one more step no flight 
 & The weary soul can bear 
 Into a whiter light, 
 Into a hush more rare. 
 
 Take me, I am all Thine, 
 
 Thine now, not seeking Thee, 
 Hid in the secret shrine, 
 
 Lost in the shoreless sea. 
 
 Grant to the prostrate soul 
 Prostration new and sweet, 
 
 Make weak the weak, control 
 Thy creature at Thy feet. 
 
 Passive I lie : shine down, 
 
 Pierce through the will with straight 
 Swift beams, one after one, 
 
 Divide, disintegrate. 
 
 Free me from self, resume 
 My place, and be Thou there ; 
 
 Yet also keep me. Come, 
 
 Thou Saviour and Thou Slayer ! 
 
 Dowden. 
 
 T 2 
 
292 Sacred Lyrics. 
 
 Cfje ffitft 
 
 CLXXVI. 
 
 f|7)OW I draw near ; alone, apart 
 J'^ I stayed, nor deemed I should require 
 Such access, till my musing heart 
 Suddenly kindled to desire. 
 
 " No farther from Thee than Thy feet ! 
 
 No less a sight than all Thy face ! 
 Nay, touch me where the heart doth beat, 
 
 Breathe where the throbbing brain has place ; 
 
 Yield me the best, the unnamed good, 
 The gift that most shall prove me near, 
 
 Thy wine for drink, Thy fruit for food, 
 Thy tokens of the nail, the spear." 
 
 Such cry was mine. I lifted up 
 
 My face, and from all speech did cease, 
 
 Daring to take the bitter cup, 
 
 But ah, Thy perfect gift was Peace ; 
 
 Quiet deliverance from all need, 
 A little space of boundless rest, 
 
 To live within the Light indeed, 
 To lean upon the Master's breast. 
 
 * E. Dowdcn. 
 
Sacred Lyrics. 293 
 
 a Cfmstmas Carol 
 
 CLXXVII. 
 
 mQERRILY the minster bells 
 *") Peal upon the morn, 
 Cheerily their music tells 
 
 " Christ to-day is born." 
 Tis the tale the angels told 
 To the shepherds in the fold, 
 Chanting heavenly melodies, 
 While God's glory filled the skies. 
 
 Let us chant that hymn sublime 
 
 That erst the angels sung, 
 Let every race and every clime, 
 
 And every heart and tongue, 
 Wake a world-wide song of praise, 
 As the joyful strain they raise, 
 Earth proclaim and heaven reply 
 " Glory be to God on High!" 
 
 Not myrrh, nor frankincense, nor gold, 
 
 The offerings we bring, 
 As royal Magians gave of old, 
 
 To Child and God and King. 
 We give not part, we give the whole ; 
 We give our spirit, body, soul, 
 We love, and worship, and obey, 
 The infant God-King born to-day. 
 
 Minster bells, peal merrily 
 
 On this festal morn 
 " Glory be to God on High ! 
 
 Christ to-day is born ! " 
 So sang the Church in ages past, 
 So shall she sing while time shall last, 
 Her hymn on earth, while warring, given, 
 Her hymn triumphant yet in heaven ! 
 
 * John Francis Waller, LL.D. 
 
294 Sacred Lyrics. 
 
 He.st in t&e JLorti* 
 
 CLXXVIII. 
 
 WEST in the Lord, blest in the Lord, 
 
 ^^ Washed in the blood of Him that was slain ; 
 
 Glorious the throng raising the song, 
 
 Thousands and thousands are swelling the strain 
 Holy ! Holy ! Lord of Hosts ! 
 
 God everlasting all ages before ; 
 Angels adore Thee, saints bow before Thee ; 
 
 Heaven with the glory is filled evermore. 
 
 Past the deep wave, past the dark grave, 
 
 Death with its terrors, life with its tears ; 
 Christ is our own King on his throne, 
 
 Love that is perfect hath cast out our fears : 
 Through great tribulation past 
 
 Sweet our rest in heaven above ; 
 White our array, sin washed away, 
 
 Ever to live in the light of His love. 
 
 Raise high the song, sing the new psalm, 
 
 Casting your crowns before the throne of gold ; 
 Praise to the Lord, praise to the Lamb, 
 
 Glory and honour and praise as of old. 
 Alleluia ! Alleluia ! 
 
 Glory and wisdom, and blessing and power, 
 Be to the Lord, be to the Lamb, 
 
 Praise to our God and the Lamb evermore ! 
 
 * John Francis Waller, LL.D. 
 
Sacred Lyrics. 295 
 
 Dei. 
 
 CLXXIX. 
 
 2f GNUS DEI ! when the heart is weary 
 
 ** With its load of sin ; 
 
 When all without is black and dreary 
 
 And hope is faint within, 
 Faith looks up to Thee to bear 
 All that load of sin and care ; 
 Thou canst give the soul repose 
 From its guilt and from its woes. 
 
 Agnus Dei ! when that hour is near me, 
 
 Terrible to all. 
 By Thy love for sinners hear me 
 
 When to Thee I call ; 
 Through the darkness of that night 
 Be my comfort and my light, 
 From the victory of the grave 
 Thou canst rescue, Thou canst save. 
 
 Agnus Dei ! when my trembling spirit 
 
 In that ireful day 
 Waits the judgment, let Thy merit 
 
 Plead for me, I pray. 
 On Thy sacrifice most holy 
 Rest I my redemption solely, 
 Thy precious blood my great salvation 
 Thy death my life Thy Cross my exaltation. 
 
 * John Francis Waller, LL.D. 
 
296 Sacred Lyrics. 
 
 a >ong of >u0tainment. 
 
 CLXXX. 
 
 7|7f| HEN the riddle of thy life darkest seems ; 
 ^*^* When no beams 
 Pierce thy soul, of heavenly light, 
 And thou dreamest in the night 
 
 Evil dreams : 
 Truly love the True, and truth shalt thou find ; 
 
 Thy vext mind 
 Shall attain a golden shore 
 Which thou sawest not before, 
 
 Being blind. 
 When the darkness as of Egypt round thee clings ; 
 
 When the wings 
 Of vampyres foul flap near, 
 And fiend-voices in thine ear 
 
 Whisper things 
 Obscene and horror-fraught, to drag thee down ; 
 
 When God's frown 
 Seems in anger o'er thee bent, 
 Heaven shut, and Christ content 
 
 Thou shouldst drown : 
 Doubt all else, if in thine anguish doubt thou must, 
 
 Only trust 
 
 That, though thou be tempest-tost, 
 Rudder gone and compass lost, 
 
 God is just. 
 
 Faint and weary, wait on God patiently : 
 
 It may be 
 
 He would have thee stand and wait, 
 Till He ope for thee a gate 
 
 Meet for thee. 
 Being strong, strive ever upward like a fire ; 
 
 Still aspire 
 
Sacred Lyrics. 297 
 
 Toward the Perfect and the Pure 
 God appoints thy life, be sure, 
 
 Never tire. 
 Trust that all things well-ordered from above 
 
 Rightly move. 
 
 God is just hold fast that creed, 
 It will serve thee in thy need, 
 Till thou come to know indeed 
 
 God is love. 
 
 * John Todhuntcr. 
 
 Cfjere 0ball come false C&ri0t0. 
 
 CLXXXI. 
 
 DREAMED of a phantom Christ 
 
 That fleeted athwart the sky, 
 Fleeted and flickered across, and enticed 
 After it, smiling, a smiling throng, 
 Whose hymns were loud as they hurried along, 
 Crowned with flowers and proudly elate, 
 Jauntily blowing the trump of fate 
 In the ears of the sorrow-stricken, 
 Leaving the fainting world to sicken 
 In the smoke of hell, and to die. 
 
 I dreamed of a spectre Christ 
 
 That wandered o'er all the earth ; 
 On its altars were sacrificed 
 Sacred pledges and solemn vows ; 
 Sin built temples, with shameless brows, 
 Virtue-whitewashed'renewed her youth, 
 Lying her lies in the cause of truth, 
 Handing tracts to the sinners around 
 All that grace might the more abound. 
 She had experienced a true new-birth. 
 
298 Sacred Lyrics. 
 
 I dreamed of a demon Christ 
 
 That glared upon land and sea, 
 Throned like Juggernaut, coldly iced 
 In the frozen armour of creed ; 
 Nerves must quiver and hearts must bleed 
 For its worship where'er it came, 
 Fair limbs writhe in the scorching flame, 
 Torments, famine, and plague, and wars, 
 Made men mad under sun and stars, 
 To prove its dreadful divinity. 
 
 I dreamed of a suffering Christ, 
 
 A sorrowful Son of Man, 
 Clad in derision a stone sufficed 
 For his pillow, his home the street, 
 Rest was none for his lonely feet, 
 Faint he was, and none brought him wine : 
 But who gazed in those eyes divine 
 Straight grew wise in life-mysteries, 
 Wise in all human sympathies, 
 Read in the world its inner plan. 
 
 I dreamed of an awful Christ, 
 
 The terrible Son of God : 
 Him, the blood of whose eucharist 
 Works, like leaven, in wine and bread, 
 Life in the living, death in the dead, 
 Where the gleam of his sun-crown fell, 
 Earth, self-judged, became heaven or hell ; 
 Plunged in God, like a lake of fire, 
 Each drank deep of his heart's desire, 
 
 Love or hate waxed or waned in God. 
 When things that be are as things that seem, 
 Then all the world will have dreamed this dream. 
 
 * John Todhunter. 
 
Sacred Lyrics. 299 
 
 CLXXXII. 
 
 E Christ-Child came to my bed one night, 
 He came in tempest and thunder ; 
 His presence woke me in sweet affright, 
 
 I trembled for joy and wonder ; 
 He bore sedately His Christmas-tree, 
 
 It shone like a silver willow, 
 His grave child's eyes looked wistfully 
 As He laid a branch on my pillow. 
 
 And when He had left me alone, alone, 
 
 And all the house lay sleeping, 
 I planted it in a nook of my own, 
 
 And watered it with my weeping. 
 And there it strikes its roots in the earth, 
 
 And opens its leaves to heaven ; 
 And when its blossoms have happy birth, 
 
 I shall know my sins forgiven. 
 
 * John Todhunter. 
 
 lone Hocft, 
 
 CLXXXIII. 
 
 -JIT HERE is a single stone 
 ^^ Above yon wave, 
 A rocky islet lone 
 Where tempests rave. 
 
 What doth it there ? the sea, 
 
 Restless and deep, 
 Breaks round it mournfully, 
 
 And knows no sleep. 
 
300 Sacred Lyrics. 
 
 The sea hath hung it round 
 With its wild weed, 
 
 No place can there be found 
 For better seed. 
 
 Storm-beaten rock ! no change 
 
 'Tis thine to know, 
 Only the water's range 
 
 Of ebb and flow. 
 
 The happy sounds of earth 
 
 Are not for thee, 
 The voice of human mirth 
 
 Of children's glee : 
 
 No song of birds is thine, 
 No crown of flowers ! 
 
 Say, dost thou not repine 
 Through long lone hours ? 
 
 Yet stars for thee are bright 
 
 In midnight skies, 
 And tranquil worlds of light 
 
 Around thee rise : 
 
 They smooth thine ocean-bed, 
 
 Its heavings cease, 
 While they, from o ? er thy head, 
 
 Breathe on thee peace. 
 
 The wearied man of grief 
 
 Like thee I deem, 
 To whom comes no relief 
 
 Through life's dark dream. 
 
Sacred Lyrics. 301 
 
 No human ties are left, 
 Earth's hopes are gone ; 
 
 He dwells, a thing bereft 
 Blighted alone. 
 
 Yet o'er him from above 
 
 Bright spirits bend ; 
 And He whose name is Love, 
 
 Calls him His friend ; 
 
 And thus he thankful learns 
 Why grief was given, 
 
 And trusting, peaceful, turns 
 To God in Heaven. 
 
 Rev. T. V. Fosbery, M.A. 
 
 Cfie Communion of 
 
 CLXXXIV. 
 
 o'er the desert plains the wild wind sweeps, 
 Swift o'er the sea, that heaves beneath its power, 
 And steady flight o'er fairest scenes it keeps, 
 
 Tho' perfume breathes from every sunlit bower : 
 Earth knows no charm its onward course to stay ; 
 It takes no rest, it passeth on, alway. 
 
 Lord, are we likened to this fleeting wind ? 
 To quit this earthly life we do not grieve, 
 
 But must the yearning spirit leave behind 
 
 The dear and true whom it is death to leave ? 
 
 Sure our strong hearts' deep love can never fail 
 
 As part and break the clouds before the gale. 
 
302 Sacred Lyrics. 
 
 Only the mortal frame can fade and die ; 
 
 All that is worthy of a spirit's love 
 Shall cleave to us throughout eternity, 
 
 Shall dwell with us in far bright worlds above 
 Here if pains, partings, sorrows, cares molest 
 Swift flight is ours before us lies our rest. 
 
 Here we are severed far ; Thou seest, Lord, 
 How each in lonely course is onward driven ; 
 
 Thy righteousness, Thy love, Thy strength afford, 
 So shalt Thou gather us to meet in Heaven ; 
 
 And us, Thy wandering winds, Thou then shalt own, 
 
 'Hushed into still pure air, around Thy throne. 
 
 * Rev. T. V. Fosbery, M.A. 
 
 TBoto of Promise* 
 
 CLXXXV. 
 
 STOOD beside yon fountain, where the sun 
 Looked on the waters as they rose and fell 
 Through the calm air unceasingly, with plash 
 Monotonous. Their column only gave 
 Back to the eye a glimmer cold and pale. 
 Sudden, a wind descending smote the trees 
 That stood around, and smote the waters, too, 
 As they sprang upward ; marring, as it seemed, 
 The fair proportions of their pillared height. 
 But, as the breeze seized thus upon the jet, 
 And broke it into spray, a thousand gems 
 Flashed in the sunshine, and the water-cloud 
 Gave forth a Rainbow, radiant as the first 
 Set by our Father as His sign in heaven. 
 
Sacred Lyrics. 303 
 
 O tossed with tempests and not comforted ! 
 O tried and smitten one ! thy weary heart 
 Must read its lesson here. Thy Saviour's love 
 (Shaken and broken though thy spirit be) 
 Sends down this visiting of stormy grief 
 To mark thee with His Bow of Promise now, 
 And keep thee for His own eternally. 
 
 * Rev. T. V. Fosbery, M.A. 
 
 iLent 
 
 CLXXXVI. 
 
 marks the Spring : It is the Spring of tears, 
 That primal rain which fell at Eden's gate 
 From our first parents' hearts disconsolate, 
 Now wept anew, for that the Cross appears 
 Down the long vista of the forty days ; 
 That while the reverent heart in sad amaze, 
 Upon the Smybol that Faith's hand uprears, 
 
 In lowly hope, and voiceless love doth gaze 
 Until glad victory comes and clothes it round with rays. 
 
 Lent is a wilderness, a lonely place 
 
 To hide our souls in from the giddy throng ; 
 We sit outside of Eden mourning long 
 
 Our lost estate, our ancient Fall from Grace ; 
 We sit and weep beside the Cross of shame 
 Alone and wear the days out in self-blame : 
 
 But Jesus turns on us His pitying face, 
 
 We are His sheep, He calleth us by name, 
 And comforts dwell where sorrows erewhile went 
 and came. 
 
 * Rev. R. W. Buckley, D.D. 
 
304 Sacred Lyrics. 
 
 CLXXXVII. 
 
 Summer eves, 
 
 When the spirit of music awakes in the leaves, 
 Whispering low sweet tones ; 
 When the stars look down on the quiet scene, 
 As happy as if they were angels' thrones ; 
 No sound, I ween, 
 Steeps the soul in a calm so holy 
 As that now gay, now melancholy, 
 Which dwells and swells 
 In the tinkling of the vesper bells. 
 Listen, listen ; listen and come, young and old ; 
 Enter the antique shrine, behold 
 How slantingly the stain'd rays pour 
 Their hues on the tessellated floor ; 
 The footfall's sound 
 
 Through the pillar'd aisle runs round and round ; 
 The sainted figures as you pass 
 Seem to smile from the tinted glass ; 
 The worshippers are upon bended knees. 
 Heed not these ; 
 While the penitential prayer 
 Swells full of sorrow on the air ; 
 The solemn aisles of the temple thrill 
 Till the words of absolution fall 
 Like the dew of heaven, to still 
 The restless hearts of all. 
 Hark ! the chant hovers and floats 
 Over the pealing organ-notes ; 
 Up to the choir of seraphim 
 Rise the cadences of that holy hymn. 
 The Soul, an athlete 
 From the arena's dust and heat, 
 Now drinks the cup of strength and youth, 
 Drawn from the fount of the Word of Truth. 
 Resting at Jesus' feet. 
 
Sacred Lyrics. 305 
 
 The world shut out, the heart keeps tryst 
 
 Alone and long with the Saviour Christ, 
 
 Until the words of blessing shed 
 
 Seal the grace to heart and head. 
 
 In sooth, an image of joy divine 
 
 At evensong is thine, 
 
 If thou prayest thus at the day's decline. 
 
 Rev. R. W. Buckley, D.D. 
 
 Ctoiligfrt 
 
 CLXXXVIII. 
 
 may tell how often sorrow 
 Cometh at the close of day ; 
 Sorrow for the sinful record 
 
 Borne by passing time away ; 
 Sorrow for good resolutions 
 
 Broken in the toil of life ; 
 For the Christian's weapons tarnished, 
 
 Blunted in the daily strife ; 
 For the weakly heart's backsliding 
 
 In the journey to its bourne ; 
 For the dulness of the spirit 
 
 Dwelling in its carnal urn. 
 Yet this sorrow bringeth comfort, 
 
 When it bends the contrite knee 
 In an act of heartfelt worship, 
 
 In a deep humility. 
 Then it is the blest forerunner 
 
 Of a grace that steals always, 
 With refreshing to the spirit, 
 
 Changing sighs to songs of praise. 
 Sorrow such as this be ever 
 
 Welcome to this heart of mine, 
 Through such tears a hopeful rainbow 
 
 O'er my future path doth shine ; 
 u 
 
306 Sacred Lyrics. 
 
 Minister of heaven's giving, 
 
 Messenger to clear the way, 
 Till the love of God descending 
 
 Teaches all my soul to pray. 
 And, in answer, such a measure 
 
 Of His strength divine comes down, 
 That my spirit more tharjL ever 
 
 Strives to win and wear the crown. 
 Godly sorrow, oft come hither 
 
 On the stilly wings of eve, 
 Such a holy joy attends thee 
 
 That it is a bliss to grieve. 
 
 * Rev. R. W. Buckley, D.D. 
 
 for 
 
 CLXXXIX. 
 
 | EAR your cross, Christian, yes, bravely bear on ! 
 
 'Tis heavy and galling, your strength well-nigh gone ; 
 Yet carry it patiently lay it not down 
 Think of the Crucified think of the crown ! 
 
 Lonely, despairing, heart-sick unto tears, 
 You look at the future the prospect of years ; 
 " My burden is heavy, my journey is long, 
 My spirit is weary, and I far from strong, 
 Who will deliver me ? no one is nigh 
 Here let me perish, O Lord, I would die ! " 
 
 Traveller, traveller, take up thy cross, 
 Follow Him, follow Him, loving the loss, 
 Loving affliction, and coldness, and hate ; 
 Suffer and work for Him, patiently wait, 
 Watch for the clearness that comes from above, 
 And all this dreariness love for His love. 
 
Sacred Lyrics. 307 
 
 A snow-storm black darkness a father from home 
 There bright is the comfort, and why does he roam ? 
 The true man is toiling, he chooses the pain, 
 And for his affection, his loss is his gain. 
 Biting and bitter the blows of the storm, 
 He thinks of his fireside, cheery and warm, 
 Thinks of his family, thinks of their smiles, 
 And patiently wears through the wearisome miles. 
 
 Christian, hear that which an earthly love saith, 
 Look thou up higher, through darkness and death, 
 Look up above and beyond the cold night 
 Think of a brighter, a cheerfuller light 
 Than that which illumines the family hearth 
 Thy family, faint one, smiles far above earth ; 
 Its light Is the LAMB, and that light may be won ! 
 Endure to the end, thou art owned as a son ; 
 Think of the circle surrounding the throne 
 Think of thy welcome there bravely bear on ! 
 
 * Rev. J. Andrews, M.A., P.M. 
 
 Pain. 
 
 cxc. 
 
 27[|HEN low and selfish is the life I lead, 
 
 *"*"l And when my heart grows commonplace and vain ; 
 
 Show it the better way, altho' it bleed, 
 
 Stern Teacher, Pain ! 
 
 When I forget what to the poor is due, 
 
 And when I make of others' loss my gain, 
 Then, with the Nails of Calvary, pierce me through, 
 
 Wise Master, Pain ! 
 u 2 
 
308 Sacred Lyrics. 
 
 I did not see the baseness of my life 
 
 Its passions blind, and its resolves insane 
 What hushed the sounds of an ignoble strife ? 
 
 The voice of Pain ! 
 
 My soul will rise on wings of golden thoughts, 
 Tho' I " among the pots " have lowly lain ; 
 Thy touch severe hath freed my soul from blots 
 
 The touch of Pain ! 
 
 I've seen a Crown of Thorn, a soldier's Spear, 
 
 By which my earth-born passion has been slain 
 Thou art a faithful friend, altho' severe, 
 
 My Teacher, Pain ! 
 
 " Lo, these are they who come from sufferings great ! " 
 
 Perhaps, I shall to these glad seats attain, 
 I hope I kiss my rod with heart elate, 
 
 Dear Master, Pain ! 
 
 * Rcv.J. Andrews, M.A., P.M. 
 
 of 3(nfant 
 
 CXCI. 
 
 was this forehead finely formed, 
 Meet temple of a noble mind 
 Why this small frame with spirit warmed, 
 So soon to be to God resigned ? 
 
 I asked, while gazing on the face 
 
 Where lingering charms yet left by Death, 
 Spoke not of Earth, but of a place 
 
 Where purer life is more than breath. 
 
Sacred Lyrics. 309 
 
 It cannot be a thing so dear 
 
 Has come and gone in vain, thought I ; 
 Nay, it has preached its half-a-year, 
 
 As others half-a-century. 
 
 Its peace, and love, and purity, 
 
 In harder hearts were shed abroad 
 Some preaching half-a-century 
 
 Perhaps have fewer turned to God. 
 
 * Rev.J. Andrews, M.A., P.M. 
 
 Cfje >etien Beaten TBooit, 
 
 CXCII. 
 
 A.EE the Lamb take up the scroll, 
 ^ All its pictur'd coils unroll ; 
 See the saints and elders hold 
 Each a harp and urn of gold, 
 Full of odours rich and rare 
 Such the saints petitions are. 
 Hark ! they sing a new taught psalm : 
 Thou art worthy, Saviour Lamb. 
 
 Worthy Thou the roll to take, 
 All the seven seals to break, 
 Thou wast slain, and by Thy blood, 
 Didst redeem us all to God, 
 Gathered from all tongues and times, 
 From all nations, and all climes, 
 Mad'st them regal priests to be, 
 In Thy land to reign with Thee. 
 
 * Rev. James Glasgow^ D.D 
 
310 Sacred Lyrics. 
 
 anB Gentile* 
 
 CXCIII. 
 
 9T7[|HERE is the breath of heaven 
 *m* That breathed upon the dead, 
 When visions bright were given, 
 And light prophetic shed ? 
 
 Oh ! when shall those who slumber 
 As still and deep as death, 
 
 A vast uncounted number, 
 Feel the awaking breath ? 
 
 When shall the bones be shaken, 
 And each its place assume, 
 
 And dust to life awaken, 
 Long silent in the tomb ? 
 
 When shall the Jews who stumble, 
 And their Messiah spurn, 
 
 In heart and spirit humble 
 Back unto Him return ? 
 
 When shall the heathen nations 
 That worship wood and stone, 
 
 And men's imaginations, 
 The one Jehovah own ? 
 
 O Lord, let false religion, 
 With all its powers, give way, 
 
 And men of every region 
 The King of kings obey. 
 
Sacred Lyrics. 311 
 
 Oh, with Thy great commission, 
 
 Speed, speed Thy servants on, 
 Till gloomy superstition 
 
 Be finally o'erthrown ; 
 
 Till Babel-tongu'd delusion 
 
 Be struck for ever dumb, 
 And own, in deep confusion, 
 
 Messiah's kingdom come. 
 
 * Rev. James Glasgow > D.D. 
 
 Cttotce of I3atiire, 
 
 CXCIV. 
 
 bird in the bower, 
 The swell of the sea, 
 The tint of the flower, 
 The hum of the bee, 
 The dew as it glistens, 
 
 The rush of the rain, 
 To man, as he listens, 
 Their language is plain. 
 
 The eye of the morning, 
 
 All sparkling in light ; 
 The high clouds adorning 
 
 The zenith with white, 
 The broad sun descending 
 
 In gold to the west, 
 The sable night lending 
 
 A season of rest, 
 
 The stars in their courses, 
 That stud the blue sky, 
 
 By no mighty forces 
 Arrested on high ; 
 
312 Sacred Lyrics. 
 
 The hoarse thunder growling, 
 The flash from the cloud, 
 
 The hurricane howling, 
 Terrific and loud ; 
 
 All life, and all motion, 
 
 The beasts in their lair, 
 The tribes of the ocean, 
 
 The tenants of air, 
 All portions of nature, 
 
 All organized forms, 
 From man, the chief creature, 
 
 To reptiles and worms, 
 
 All speak of creation, 
 
 All pencil His name, 
 From whom their formation 
 
 And destiny came. 
 Almighty ! all knowing 
 
 In thought and design, 
 Beneficent showing 
 
 His glory divine. 
 
 * Rev. James Glasgow, D.D. 
 
 TBeiietier to fri 
 
 cxcv. 
 
 /jglVE thyself to Jesus' hand, 
 ^^ Go to join the ransom'd band 
 Of the just, made perfect all 
 Of all tribes of great and small. 
 Go to meet those loving friends, 
 Who to earth's remotest ends 
 Were removed, amid the strife 
 And the troubles of this life, 
 
Sacred Lyrics. 313 
 
 Oh, the joy that on thee waits ! 
 Oh, the welcome at heaven's gates ! 
 Oh, the recognition then 
 Of renowned and holy men, 
 Who, in place and time afar, 
 Waged Messiah's holy war ! 
 And of dear ones little known, 
 Save to Christ the Lord alone ! 
 
 While thou mixest with the blest, 
 Let the body calmly rest, 
 Safe in Jesus let it sleep, 
 All in silence, long and deep, 
 Till the great expected day, 
 When the heaven shall pass away, 
 And the trump shall silence break, 
 Then the body shall awake. 
 
 Then the body and the soul, 
 Making, with thyself, the whole, 
 Sanctified by grace divine, 
 Fitted high in light to shine, 
 Shall, at last, at Christ's right hand, 
 Re-united, take their stand : 
 Death has now a sting no more, 
 Terrors of the grave are o'er. 
 
 Rev. James Glasgow, D.D. 
 
314 Sacred Lyrics. 
 
 Cfje JDotonfall of 
 
 CXCVI. 
 
 OW great the loss, how foul the stain, 
 
 When Israel saw her armies fled, 
 Her monarch, proud, in battle slain, 
 Her warrior-sons on Gilboa dead ! 
 
 Stilled was the voice that urged them on, 
 
 To meet, undaunted, every foe ; 
 The hand that led them lifeless, gone 
 
 Their martial spirit dulled and low. 
 
 David for God's anointed wept, 
 Though royal honours lay in store, 
 
 Though persecution, vanquished, slept, 
 And Saul's fell spear was aimed no more. 
 
 No song of triumph he ordained, 
 
 No mirth, nor ill-timed revelry, 
 His hands no bleeding victim stained, 
 
 No useless pomp regaled his eye ; 
 
 But much he grieved that men should say, 
 
 What Israel lost, Philistia won ; 
 Philistia ! whose unholy sway 
 
 Defiled the ground she trampled on. 
 
 Not e'en the thought could soothe his breast, 
 That now his throneward path was clear ; 
 
 For tenfold grief his heart oppressed 
 No more survived his friend most dear. 
 
 Yes, Jonathan ! though Pagan wrath 
 Had torn thy body from his sight, 
 
 Not all the conquering hosts of Gath 
 His soul from thine could disunite. 
 
 * Lord O'Neill (Rev). 
 
Sacred Lyrics. 315 
 
 nines toritten During: 
 
 CXCVII. 
 
 THOU, whose all-enlivening ray, 
 Can turn my darkness into day, 
 Disperse, great God, my mental gloom, 
 And with Thyself my soul illume. 
 Though gathering sorrows swell my breast, 
 Speak but the word, and peace and rest 
 Shall set my troubled spirit free, 
 In sweet communion, Lord, with Thee. 
 What, though in this heart-searching hour, 
 Thou dimm'st my intellectual power ; 
 The gracious discipline I own, 
 And wisdom seek at Thy blest throne. 
 Let love divine my bosom sway, 
 And then my darkness will be day ; 
 No doubt, no fears shall heave my breast, 
 In God Himself will be my rest ! 
 
 Bishop Jcbb. 
 
 <$lorg tfmt 
 
 CXCVIII. 
 
 from the mount he cometh 
 ^"^ The Prophet rapt in awe ! 
 And in his hands he beareth 
 
 The stern and righteous law ; 
 His face reflects the shining 
 
 Of glory, lately seen ; 
 And Israel looks with terror ! 
 
 And needs a veil between. 
 
316 Sacred Lyrics. 
 
 Up into heaven he gazeth 
 
 The Martyr soon to go ! 
 Calm as the blest evangel 
 
 He preached to men below 
 " / see the heavens opened, 
 
 And Jesus standing there ! " 
 His eyes have caught the radiance, 
 
 His face is angel fair ! 
 
 The light from Sinai paleth, 
 
 And Death must quench its ray ; 
 And so it fadeth fadeth 
 
 And vanisheth away : 
 " The glory that excelleth " 
 
 To Life unbars the way ; 
 And so it ever shineth 
 
 On to the perfect day ! 
 
 Thus Moses, veil'd, remaineth 
 
 Here in a world of strife ; 
 Thus Stephen, bright, ascendeth 
 
 To bliss of holiest life ! 
 That hath but transient glimpses 
 
 Of glory seen before : 
 This gazeth on the Saviour 
 
 For ever evermore ! 
 
 " Thou canst not see My glory , 
 
 Thou canst not see and live / ' 
 A sight of heaven forsaken 
 
 Is all the Law can give. 
 JESU ! Thou art the Godhead 
 
 Incarnate to our view, 
 The sight of Thee, life-giving, 
 
 Alone makes holy, too ! 
 
 * Very Rev. W. Pakenham Walsh 
 (Dean of Cashel). 
 
Sacred Lyrics. 317 
 
 Cfje lortT0 Dap. 
 
 CXCIX. 
 
 HY Temple, Lord ! it nobly stands, 
 
 Thy earthly Temple made with hands ; 
 Firmly it stands, and, raised on high, 
 Points to the Church above the sky. 
 The Church of Heaven and Church of Earth 
 Resound to-day with sacred mirth ; 
 While saints below and saints above 
 Are one in praise, and joy, and love. 
 
 Be present, gracious Lord, when now, 
 Low at Thy mercy seat, we bow ; 
 Be present with the kneeling throng, 
 At matins and at even-song ; 
 Let tributes of Thy people's love 
 Find echoes in the Church above ; 
 And one triumphant choral sound 
 Mingled from earth and heaven rebound. 
 
 Be present with the pining poor. 
 
 When Death knocks at the sick man's door, 
 
 Where sorrow fills lone eyes with tears, 
 
 Where mourning widowhood appears ; 
 
 Be present at each sufferer's side, 
 
 And let the faint " the spoil divide." 
 
 Be present over sea and land 
 
 With all who bow at Thy command ; 
 
 Let angels bear to heaven on high 
 
 The tale of every contrite sigh : 
 
 Let pastors preach with heaven sent power, 
 
 While round descends the gracious shower. 
 
 Seal up Thy work, Thy coming show, 
 
 To all Thy lingering Church below. 
 
 Rev. Thomas Drew, D.D. 
 
318 Sacred Lyrics. 
 
 Communion. 
 
 cc. 
 
 m ANQUET of Love ! O Feast Divine ! 
 *^ I bow before the sacred shrine, 
 The feast to join, the Christ to meet, 
 The Lord of life and love to greet : 
 The hour is come, the Church's Head 
 Himself reveals in breaking bread. 
 That body, broken for my sake, 
 In grateful memory I take, 
 The chalice pours its mystic stream, 
 And bleeding mercy is its theme : 
 Blessings attend the pastor's voice, 
 And bid my ransom'd soul rejoice. 
 Jesus, my King ! may I proclaim 
 The glory of Thy beauteous name ; 
 Here in these rites, all pure and free, 
 By Thy command, remember Thee : 
 O haste the day, when heaven's own feast 
 Shall see me its eternal guest. 
 
 Rev. Thomas Drew, D.D. 
 
 life's last J>our, 
 
 CCI. 
 
 A.HALL I live till I am old, 
 w Till my heart is dull and cold ? 
 Shall I with progressive wear, 
 All life's ills reluctant bear ; 
 See no tender eye watch o'er me, 
 All I loved in death before me ? 
 Shall I die with years in prime, 
 Unfulfilled the Psalmist's time ? 
 
Sacred Lyrics 319 
 
 Shall I leave this sunshine soon, 
 
 In the midst of manhood's noon 
 
 Friendship, feasting, music o'er, 
 
 All I cherished seen no more ? 
 
 Shall I feel a pang a chill 
 
 Brain on fire a rapid rill 
 
 From cloven heart a stifled breath 
 
 Tell me, ye wise, will this be death ? 
 
 Tell me, what I long to know, 
 
 Presage of the fatal blow ? 
 
 Alas ! ye cannot tell the hour, 
 
 The way, the work of death's dark power ; 
 
 Then, let me bow beneath the sway 
 
 Of Him whom earth and Heaven obey. 
 
 Ask Him, my soul, to seek and save, 
 
 And thus, unfearing, meet the grave. 
 
 Jesu, Lord ! be present Thou 
 
 When Death's cold dews surround my brow ; 
 
 Let promised rod and staff be there, 
 
 And faith and hope, and love and prayer ; 
 
 Visit my soul with glad surprise, 
 
 And glad with heaven my longing eyes. 
 
 Rev. Thomas Drew, D.D. 
 
 jFrom t&e Cross. 
 
 ecu. 
 
 fl7I|OMAN, behold thy son : 
 
 ^^* Behold thy mother." From that hour 
 
 Drawn by this word of power, 
 Both hearts were joined in one, 
 
 He took her to his home 
 
 To guard with filial reverence. 
 The proudest palace-dome 
 
 Had vainly lured her thence. 
 
326 Sacred Lyrics. 
 
 The mother of his Lord, 
 
 Committed to him from the Cross ! 
 
 All earthly joys were dross 
 Beside this rich reward. 
 
 A sword pierced her own heart, 
 Dying almost in Jesus' death, 
 
 But balm to heal impart 
 The tender words He saith : 
 
 That in His torment there 
 A dying Saviour sin-opprest 
 He yet for her possest 
 
 A dying son's fond care. 
 
 By such peculiar meed 
 
 The lov'd apostle's place approved, 
 He feels himself indeed 
 
 His Saviour's own beloved. 
 
 Therefore, of love he tells, 
 
 Therefore, in every line he wrote, 
 Entranced our spirits note, 
 
 On love on love he dwells. 
 
 He wrote, as write he must, 
 
 Whom Christ the Lord had loved on earth, 
 And who has had in trust 
 
 Christ's mother at his hearth. 
 
 O Thou who seest in each 
 
 That fain would do Thy Father's will, 
 
 A deeper kindred still 
 Than aught of flesh can reach. 
 
Sacred Lyrics. 321 
 
 May we in spirit, knit 
 
 By love and faith to Thee belong : 
 Then hear Thy dying lips commit 
 
 Thy feeble to Thy strong. 
 
 So, as we journey on, 
 
 Linked one to other, be we found 
 By such sweet tie as bound 
 
 The Blessed Virgin and Saint John. 
 
 * Rev.J. H. Martin, LL.D. 
 
 Contierteti, 
 
 CCIII. 
 
 were talents many a one 
 Committed to his heedless trust : 
 He knew God's will, and spurned it known, 
 Servant to mammon and to lust. 
 His trespass to a mountain grown 
 Flung death's black shadow o'er the sward ; 
 He, who cherished self alone, 
 Stood self-condemned and self-abhorred. 
 Then, in the dust repentant laid, 
 He heard, and he believed the word 
 " For that thou never couldst have paid, 
 Take the free quittance of thy Lord." 
 
 And now, forgiven all that debt, 
 He loveth much and hateth sin, 
 And from his shorten'd span is set 
 The fruit of wasted years to win. 
 Can earth nor hell his purpose let 
 All things to do and to endure, 
 " Ennobled by a vast regret, 
 And by contrition sealed thrice sure." 
 v 
 
322 Sacred Lyrics. 
 
 For made in Christ from weakness strong, 
 And from impurity made pure, 
 Hell has not left the power to wrong, 
 And earth has lost the charm to lure. 
 
 Needs hard-taxed strength to be restored ? 
 
 Well has he learned the how and where : 
 
 The magic of the written word 
 
 He knows, the secret power of prayer. 
 
 Kneeling before the holy board, 
 
 He breathes the Church's purest breath, 
 
 Feeding upon the risen Lord, 
 
 And pleading the atoning death : 
 
 Deep heart-confession opes the heart 
 
 For all that absolution saith : 
 
 So goes he forth to do his part, 
 
 By faithful works perfecting faith. 
 
 * Rev.J. H. Martin, LL.D. 
 
 Cf)e 
 
 CCIV. 
 
 ,LEST were the chosen three 
 
 Who stood with Thee, 
 Jesus, Thou Son of God, 
 Once, on the Holy Mount, 
 
 Whose height we count 
 Nearest to heaven of any earthly sod 
 
 Blest that they erst should be 
 
 Summoned by Thee 
 To meet hell's rudest shock, 
 Each having strength from heaven 
 
 W T ith his name given, 
 Two, as of thunder born ; one, as a rock. 
 
Sacred Lyrics. 323 
 
 But here, more brightly blest 
 
 Than all the rest 
 Of men, for ever, are ; 
 To see the Lamb who died, 
 
 The Crucified, 
 In heaven's high glory, yet without a scar. 
 
 To pass within the cloud 
 
 That seems to shroud 
 The footstool of God's throne, 
 And there to hear His word 
 Which none else heard, 
 Save Moses and Elias they alone : 
 
 " This is My loved Son, 
 
 My Holy One, 
 
 Well pleasing ; hear ye Him ;" 
 While streamed from Jesu's face 
 
 Such rays of grace 
 That, in their sacred light, earth's sun grew dim, 
 
 Nor changed His face alone, 
 
 But glory shone 
 
 E'en through the robes he ware ; 
 No earthly fuller's white, 
 
 But heaven's bright 
 Radiance of holiness, exceeding fair. 
 
 So make us, Lord, to shine 
 
 With light divine, 
 Treading where Thou hast trod, 
 Till, having run our race, 
 
 We see Thy face 
 Transfigured to the Image of our God. 
 
 * Rev. J. A. Stewart, A.M. 
 
 V 2 
 
324 Sacred Lyrics. 
 
 i) toell fot 
 
 ccv. 
 
 fT\ WELL for him who lives at ease 
 **^ With garnered gold in wide domain ! 
 Nor heeds the splashing of the rain, 
 The crashing down of forest trees. 
 
 O well for him who ne'er hath known 
 The travail of the hungry years, 
 A father grey with grief and tears, 
 
 A mother weeping all alone. 
 
 But well for him whose feet have trod 
 The weary road of earthly strife, 
 Yet from the sorrows of his life 
 
 Builds ladders to be nearer God. 
 
 * Oscar Wilde. 
 
 CCVI. 
 
 STOOD by the unvintageable sea 
 
 Till the wet waves drenched face and hair with spray ; 
 
 The long red fires of the dying day 
 Glowed in the west : the wind sang drearily, 
 And to the land the clamouring gulls did flee : 
 
 Alas ! I cried, my hands are weak with pain, 
 
 How shall I gather fruit, or golden grain 
 From these waste fields that travail ceaselessly ? 
 
 My nets gaped wide with many a break and flaw, 
 
 Nathless I threw them as my final cast 
 
 Into the sea : and waited for the end. 
 When lo ! a sudden brightness ! and I saw 
 
 Christ walking on the waters : fear was past ; 
 
 I knew that I had found my perfect friend. 
 
 * Oscar Wilde. 
 
Sacred Lyrics. 325 
 
 Onto one 
 
 CCVII. 
 
 fJTHOU knowest all : I seek in vain 
 ^^ What lands to till or sow with seed ; 
 
 The land is black with briar and weed, 
 Nor cares for falling tears or rain. 
 
 Thou knowest all : I sit and wait 
 
 With blinded eyes and hands that fail, 
 Till the last lifting of the veil 
 
 That hangs before God's holy gate. 
 
 Thou knowest all : I cannot see ; 
 
 I trust I shall not live in vain : 
 
 I know that we shall meet again 
 In some divine eternity. 
 
 * Oscar Wilde. 
 
 , Come not tfws* 
 
 CCVIII. 
 
 |17)AY, come not thus : white lilies in the spring, 
 -N* Sad olive-gardens, or the holy dove, 
 
 Teach me more clearly of Thy life and love 
 Than terrors of red flame and thundering ; 
 Wind-shaken reeds dear memories of Thee bring ; 
 A bird at evening flying to its nest 
 Tells me of One who had no place of rest ; 
 I think it is of Thee the sparrows sing. 
 
 Come rather on some autumn afternoon, 
 
 When red and brown are burnished on the leaves, 
 And the fields echo to the reapers' song. 
 Come when the splendid fullness of the moon 
 
 Looks down upon the rows of golden sheaves, 
 And reap Thy harvest : we have waited long. 
 
 * Oscar Wilde. 
 
326 Sacred Lyrics. 
 
 Co an afflicteu JFrienlx 
 
 CCIX. 
 
 SUFFERING saint ! and too severely tried, 
 
 But that thy God, unseen, is at thy side ; 
 And even when most His comforts seem to cease, 
 Still leads thee onward to a heavenly peace : 
 Refines through pain, from earth's allurements wins, 
 Breathes holy joy, in guise of grief for sins ! 
 Thyself to blame, by Him acquitted be, 
 Such is the present lot assigned to thee. 
 But thou shalt see thy Saviour face to face, 
 The dark vale issuing in a sunny place ; 
 Feel with surprise how His supporting arm 
 Hath brought thee through that valley safe from harm : 
 Own the past glooms but blessings in disguise, 
 And that He viewed thee still with loving eyes. 
 Forsaken thou may'st seem, but He is near, 
 Hears every prayer, and numbers every tear ; 
 And knowing, feeling our infirmity, 
 Forgets not that dread moment on the Tree, 
 When from His own humanity, awhile, 
 Appeared to turn away His father's smile : 
 And his strong cry of agony went up, 
 As that desertion seemed to brim His cup ! 
 
 Triumphant now o'er sorrows every wave, 
 And able to the uttermost to save, 
 He yet is touched by sufferings once His own, 
 Nor leaves His blood-bought friends unheard to groan. 
 A merciful High-Priest, and faithful, now 
 In holiest place presents each troubled vow, 
 And aids the comforter, by promise given, 
 To intercede ineffably in heaven. 
 
 * Sir W. R. Hamilton. 
 
Sacred Lyrics. 327 
 
 Praper for Calm, 
 
 ccx. 
 
 the disciples saw each surging hill 
 Of waters threaten that frail bark, aboard 
 Of which, rude-pillowed, lay their sleeping Lord, 
 They roused Him, with affrighted prayers ; and still, 
 He, only He, can calm the mind at will ; 
 His sovereign Word alone with power reprove 
 Ambition's tumult, the unrest of love, 
 And to the heart's wild waves say, Peace, be still. 
 If to ourselves, then, Christ now sleeping seem, 
 If, in our hearts we feel those billows rave, 
 Let us, too, start to prayer from panic's dream, 
 And from a risen Saviour mercy crave : 
 Thy voice, O Lord, can still give calm supreme 
 Without Thee we are lost but Thou canst save. 
 
 * Sir W. R. Hamilton. 
 
 D TBrooDing Spirit. 
 
 CCXI. 
 
 BROODING Spirit of Wisdom and of Love, 
 Whose mighty wings even now o'ershadow me, 
 Absorb me in thine own immensity, 
 And raise me far my finite self above ! 
 Purge vanity away, and the weak care 
 That name or fame of me may widely spread : 
 And the deep wish keep burning in their stead, 
 Thy blissful influence afar to bear, 
 Or see it borne ! Let no desire of ease, 
 No lack of courage, faith, or love, delay 
 Mine own steps on that high thought-paven way, 
 In which my soul her dear commission sees : 
 Yet with an equal joy let me behold 
 Thy chariot o'er that way by others rolled ! 
 
 * Sir W. R. Hamilton. 
 
328 Sacred Lyrics. 
 
 true, 31 tetie Dutfelt. 
 
 ccxn. 
 
 'flT IS true, I have outfelt, and have out-thought, 
 ^^ If my own feelings and own thoughts I know, 
 That ardour for renown, which, long ago, 
 So passionately in my young heart wrought, 
 That all my being, with rich longing fraught, 
 Burned, keenly fragrant, in one precious glow. 
 Now would I only bend my spirit-bow 
 For the high mark beheld by lonely Thought 
 Heaven-eyed, and careless of the world's applause. 
 Yet dear the memory and fresh the might 
 Of fanes, where, to the aw'd enthusiast's sight, 
 A brother's name from heaven a glory draws. 
 A holy hope, and powerful still it were, 
 That I in such a fane should minister. 
 
 * Sir W. R. Hamilton. 
 
 gtoert) ongs in t&e JSig&t. 
 
 CCXIII. 
 
 7T7TJHEN sorrow appears, and the bosom despaireth 
 ^^^ Of ever again swelling joyous and glad, 
 Oh ! why not remember that One who declareth 
 
 He resteth the weary consoleth the sad. 
 When the harp of the spirit lies hopelessly shattered 
 
 Its chord hanging broken, its melody gone 
 When of all the light strains with which early youth 
 flattered, 
 
 There lingers around us not even a tone ; 
 'Tis then that the High and the Holy One sendeth 
 
 To string it anew with hope truthful and bright, 
 Which every sad wail of the sorrowful blendeth 
 
 With strains of sweet comfort " with songs in the 
 night." 
 
Sacred Lyrics. 329 
 
 " Songs in the night," when the broken head burneth, 
 
 Recalling the memories of bitterness past ; 
 " Songs in the night," for the mother who mourneth 
 
 Her young bud of promise her dearest her last. 
 " Songs in the night," for a lonely one fated 
 
 To weep o'er the hearth of a desolate home ; 
 Songs for the spurned, for the hardly entreated 
 
 The driven unpitied unfriended to roam. 
 Songs, o'er the heart of the sorrowful throwing 
 
 A brightness that cometh like light from above, 
 That hymneth of regions where tears shall cease flowing, 
 
 Dried once and for ever by mercy and love. 
 
 * Rev. Abraham Oulton. 
 
 Cbe l>em of $>& Garment, 
 
 CCXIV. 
 
 GOD of Calvary and Bethlehem, 
 
 Thou who didst suffer rather than condemn, 
 Grant me to touch Thy garment's healing hem. 
 
 Thou trailest Thy fair robes of seamless light 
 Through this dark world of misery and night ; 
 Its blackness cannot mar Thy spotless white. 
 
 Thou dost not, Master, as we pass Thee by, 
 
 Draw in Thy robes least we should come too nigh ; 
 
 We see no scorn in Thine all-sinless eye. 
 
 There is no shrinking even from our touch, 
 
 Thy tenderness to us is ever such, 
 
 It can endure and suffer from us much. 
 
 Elizabeth Hamilton. 
 
330 Sacred Lyrics. 
 
 Repentance 
 
 ccxv. 
 
 Truth's dread light around us flashes, 
 And when within our conscience lashes, 
 We sit in sack-cloth and in ashes 
 
 When we begin ourselves to know, 
 Had we no Christ to whom to go ; 
 Oh ! dark unutterable woe ! 
 
 Were there no Lamb amidst the throne ; 
 It were for sinless knees alone, 
 At sight of it we should but groan. 
 
 The awful dazzling of its white 
 
 To us were blackness dark as night, 
 
 But Christ is there to shade the light. 
 
 Our eyes with tears for sin are dim, 
 But when we lift them unto Him, 
 They lose their sorrow's darkening rim. 
 
 Elizabeth Hamilton. 
 
 CCXVI. 
 
 TO a garden, at the dawn of day, 
 
 I hastened. Flowers bright with dewy bloom 
 Were round me. All within was fresh and gay. 
 \\ hen suddenly I came upon a tomb, 
 And, shuddering, turned away. 
 ' Must man be ever minded of his doom, 
 E'en in his hours of mirth ? 
 
Sacred Lyrics. 331 
 
 Garden, thou art a fitting type of earth, 
 
 Whose flowers hide decay 
 Farewell to thee, farewell !" 
 But in the evening some mysterious spell 
 Drew me unto that garden-tomb again, 
 
 Just ere the sun had set. 
 I found a great stone rolled against the door ; 
 The sepulchre was empty now no more. 
 A little group of mourners, too, I met, 
 
 As they departed 
 
 Broken-hearted ; 
 
 While such a scent of spices filled the air 
 That much I marvelled who was sleeping there. 
 
 Just then I found 
 A superscription fallen on the ground ; 
 
 And read, with deep surprise, 
 The name and royal title of a king, 
 " A monarch" buried in such lowly guise ; 
 
 But all surmise 
 
 To me was vain. 
 Startled by flutter of a wild bird's wing, 
 
 Which, in the awful solemness around, 
 Seemed a mysterious and ghostly thing, 
 
 I lifted up mine eyes, 
 
 And lo ! their glance fell on 
 A man unaged, but of most reverend mien ; 
 A face more mournful I had never seen. 
 
 I ventured to draw near 
 " Sir," I implored, " who is the sleeper here ?" 
 The superscription in his hand I placed ; 
 With awe I watched him while the words he traced. 
 " It is their King, whom they have crucified," 
 With grief and indignation he replied. 
 Then, adding gently that his name was John, 
 On a low root all overgrown with moss 
 He made me rest beside him while he told 
 The wondrous story of Christ's life on earth, 
 From the great glories of His birth 
 Unto the latest anguish of the Cross, 
 To which He had been sold. 
 
332 Sacred Lyrics. 
 
 He talked until the moonbeams fell 
 Around us. When in a pause 
 I watched a muffled mourner sadly creep 
 Up through the olives. "See! one comes to weep," 
 I murmured softly. " Yea, and he hath cause," 
 He answered. And a bitter wailing cry 
 Upon the air arose, 
 
 Alas ! and did I on this day deny 
 
 My Lord about to die ; 
 To Thee more cruel even than Thy foes." 
 John sadly told me then, " I now must hasten 
 To comfort her whom God doth sorely chasten, 
 To whom this day Christ gave me as a son 
 
 His mother ; 
 But how shall I replace the Holy One !" 
 
 I cried, " One moment stay : 
 Methinks this shepherd of the sheep, 
 
 To whom death did obey, 
 Is far too great for death to keep. 
 Thou hast three resurrections seen 
 
 Where Christ hath been, 
 And with the morn thou shalt behold another 
 Greater than that of Lazarus, Mary's brother." 
 
 Elizabeth Hamilton. 
 
 Caltmrp, 
 
 CCXVII. 
 
 E A, all the paths of earth lead up to thee, 
 
 O Calvary ! 
 The sad, the pleasant, 
 
 Bond and free, 
 The prince and peasant, 
 
 As equals meet around thy tree. 
 The Past and Present 
 Merged into one are found 
 Upon thy holy ground. 
 
Sacred Lyrics. 333 
 
 Darkness and light 
 
 Are on Christ's left and on His right, 
 
 But we ourselves must place 
 
 In judgment or in grace. 
 
 We may in darkness stand, 
 
 Or kneel in light at His right hand. 
 
 Unheeding of His wistful cry, 
 
 We cannot Christ pass by ; 
 
 We must " Hosanna" sing, or " Crucify ;" 
 
 Confess Him or deny. 
 
 Elizabeth Hamilton. 
 
 &e ascension* 
 
 CCXVIII. 
 
 HE crimson petals of the withering day 
 
 Lay scattered on a bank of evening cloud, 
 Came twinkling forth upon their glittering way 
 
 The bright forerunners of the starry crowd. 
 The hazy calmness of the eventide 
 
 Fell softly over mountain, stream, and hill ; 
 Time's greatest day in all its sunny pride 
 
 Was gathered to its fathers calm and still. 
 That day to be remembered evermore, 
 When ascending Lord the heavens bowed. 
 
 O Risen Crucified ! 
 Straight from Thy Cross unto Thy Throne we soar. 
 
 Elizabeth Hamilton. 
 
334 Sacred Lyrics. 
 
 Comfort. 
 
 CCXIX. 
 
 4tOR every sorrow here on earth 
 J' There is sympathy in heaven, 
 For every wound God's love inflicts 
 
 A healing balm is given. 
 It is our Father's hand that gives, 
 
 The same hand takes away ; 
 And we cannot murmur or complain 
 
 While a Father leads the way. 
 It was His love that chose our lot 
 
 It must be good and right, 
 For is it not our Father's glance 
 
 That makes the dark path bright, 
 And gently leads His wandering child 
 
 Out of the realm of night ! 
 
 Julia G. M. Kirchhoffer. 
 
 ccxx. 
 
 IS impress was stamped on their tone and voice, 
 
 As the godlike words poured forth ; 
 His mark in their foreheads shewed, clear and bright 
 
 The token of noble birth. 
 They were not the sons of an ancient race, 
 
 And no royal blood had they, 
 But children of Him, who, as Lord and King, 
 The monarchs of earth obey. 
 
 And their enemies marvelled at their mien, 
 
 For little they thought or guessed 
 They had touched the key-note of all ; it lay 
 
 In two little words compressed 
 
Sacred Lyrics. 335 
 
 " With Jesus." Ah ! there was the mystery solved. 
 They had heard Him as He taught ; 
 With Him they had suffered, and watched, and prayed, 
 And loved Him in deed and thought. 
 
 Oh ! would that on earth, 'mid the children of men, 
 
 Who live but for sordid gain, 
 For honour, or wealth, or wordly goods, 
 
 Or pleasure that turns to pain, 
 The lustre of Christians shone pure and bright, 
 
 That all men might mark it well, 
 The signet of those who are sons of God, 
 
 Of those who " with Jesus" dwell !. 
 
 Julia G. M. Kirchhoffer. 
 
 Cast tf)g iBteafl upon t&e 
 
 CCXXI. 
 
 /If AST thy bread upon the waters ; 
 ^* They will bear it far away 
 On their restless tossing bosom, 
 
 On the white and crested spray, 
 Through the midnight waste of darkness. 
 
 Through the scorching heat of day. 
 
 In the morning waken early, 
 Scatter far and wide the seed 
 
 On the hard and trodden pathway, 
 In the daisy-jewelled mead ; 
 
 Heed not mocking eyes of wonder, 
 God will mark the silent deed. 
 
 Drop a word of tender comfort, 
 Solemn warning, counsel wise, 
 
 Like a little wedge inserted, 
 Well content in such disguise ; 
 
 Fastened with a prayer and promise, 
 Noted by immortal eyes. 
 
336 Sacred Lyrics. 
 
 Rosy morns arise in glory, 
 Golden sunsets fade away, 
 
 Spring and autumn, summer, winter, 
 Each is passing on its way, 
 
 And the world is growing older 
 With each quick succeeding day. 
 
 Age and care have left their traces 
 On thy brow in furrows deep, 
 
 And thy eye is growing misty, 
 And thou canst no longer weep, 
 
 And the past is fading from thee, 
 And remembrance sinks to sleep ; 
 
 But the bread cast forth in weakness, 
 Where the surging billows rove, 
 
 And the long-forgotten seedling, 
 And the little word of love, 
 
 All have sped their silent errand ; 
 Thou wilt find them all above. 
 
 Julia G. M. Kirchhoffcr. 
 
 Silence. 
 
 CCXXII. 
 
 9T7T1HO hath not felt the sacred hours 
 ***** Of stillness and of calm, 
 When silence is more musical 
 
 Than noblest chant or psalm ; 
 When words are like the rippling wave 
 
 That dies upon the shore, 
 While the great ocean-depth of soul 
 
 Lies voiceless evermore : 
 
Sacred Lyrics. 337 
 
 When a spirit loved and loving 
 
 Hath run out its mortal race, 
 And the soul in radiance rising 
 
 Drops its mantle on the face, 
 When a gleam of heaven's glory 
 
 On the marble brow is seen, 
 All is solemn hush and silence, 
 
 Where the voice of God hath been : 
 
 When the gentle moon, arising 
 
 From the dark mysterious sea, 
 Shedding o'er its troubled waters 
 
 Rays of peace and purity, 
 Casts a path of silver glory, 
 
 That trembles in the wind, 
 As though a angel-host had passed, 
 
 And left their track behind : 
 
 When the full-toned organ swelling, 
 
 Poureth forth its music tide, 
 Sweeping past the clustered pillars, 
 
 Down along the minster wide, 
 Thrilling the enraptur'd listener 
 
 With a sudden rush of song, 
 Then the spirit, crushed with beauty, 
 
 Sinks in silence, deep and long : 
 
 When the soul, in adoration, 
 
 Prostrate lies before the throne, 
 Words may never, never utter 
 
 What the spirit breathes alone ; 
 Other ear may never listen, 
 
 Other eye may never see ; 
 What the twillight silence covers, 
 
 Lies between thy God and thee ! 
 
 Julia G. M. Kirchhoffer. 
 
33 S Sacred Lyrics. 
 
 Prager, 
 
 CCXXIII. 
 
 RAYING to Thee, our wills do not require 
 
 That Thou, the Lord who doest all things well, 
 Guiding Thy world by laws immutable, 
 Shouldst, when some wishes of our hearts' suspire 
 Thee-ward in faith, grant unto the desire 
 Of each man that which suits his own small need, 
 (Lest others' wishes fail if his succeed, 
 Being contrary) : but lower will to higher 
 Can, in proud meekness and strong helplessness, 
 Yield, and own Law as girdling Destiny. 
 Thou, setting us within fixed bounds, didst give 
 Great passive strength to human littleness 
 Only we cry to Thee for sympathy ; 
 If Thou wilt love us, we can bear and live. 
 
 * Elizabeth Dickinson West. 
 
 " 
 
 let J>im Deng Jnm0elf:' 
 
 CCXXIV. 
 
 Christ hath spoken to a human heart, 
 " Take up thy cross and follow after me, 
 Renouncing set/," (whether its will be free 
 To yield up things possessed, or, harder part, 
 It feel it hath no choice but take pain's smart 
 All unassuaged by sense of power :) then he 
 Whose will gives gladly or bears patiently 
 Would from the thought of restitution start 
 Grieved and indignant, he who once hath poured 
 His free-will or his patience forth, (and meant 
 His gift should be accepted, though in worth 
 It were so poor) he would not see restored 
 Things he renounced in true abandonment ; 
 Would not choose heaven to give joys missed on earth. 
 
 * Elizabeth Dickinson West. 
 
Sacred Lyrics. 339 
 
 Cfce amount of SDitoes* 
 
 ccxxv. 
 
 stand ye gazing, men of Galilee, 
 Into the deep sky arching overhead, 
 As though ye waited there some proof to see 
 That there was truth in words the Master said ? 
 
 Hath He not spoken " I will come again," 
 And " Where I am, there shall ye also be ?" 
 Need ye some vision to make this more plain ? 
 Must ye have sight to give faith certainty ? 
 
 Rather go back to your Jerusalem, 
 Unto what work ye find before you set, 
 These things are safe, with all the love of them ; 
 Need ye delay upon Mount Olivet ? 
 
 Why stand ye gazing, men of Galilee, 
 Ye who have watched God's cloud from sight receive 
 Blessings of earth ? Yea, though most good they be, 
 Better it is if thus ye see them leave. 
 
 Have ye not faith in all the words ye said ? 
 Why need ye linger here to test your creed ? 
 Doubt ye at all the " rising of the dead "- 
 Or that its First-fruits, Christ, is risen indeed ? 
 
 Unto your life's Jerusalem return 
 
 Gladly, for if ye take "great joy " with you, 
 
 Joy of a confidence most calm and stern, 
 
 Old ways and common will seem high and new. 
 
 * Elizabeth Dickinson West 
 
 W 2 
 
340 Sacred Lyrics. 
 
 a Ooice from 
 
 CCXXVI. 
 
 JflJOICE of Jesus calling, calling- 
 *** " I have died for thee, 
 Earth is dark, and night is falling, 
 Come, sad soul, to Me. 
 
 " Why, O child of tears and weeping, 
 
 Dost thou still remain 
 In the chill of bondage sleeping, 
 
 Slave to sin and pain ? 
 
 I have conquered fear and sorrow, 
 
 Peace is mine to give, 
 Seek with Me a brighter morrow, 
 
 Look on Me and live." 
 
 Voice of Jesus calling, calling 
 
 " Art thou still afraid ? 
 Is that sin so fair, so thralling, 
 
 Canst not strike it dead ? 
 
 Look on Me, O faint believer, 
 Look, and steadfast be ; 
 
 I have loved thee, loved for ever, 
 Leave that sin, for Me." 
 
 Voice of Jesus calling, calling 
 
 " By the riverside 
 Linger not, the night is falling, 
 
 Deep the stream, and wide, 
 
Sacred Lyrics. 341 
 
 Cling, beloved, I am near thee 
 In the hour of death ; 
 
 Call, beloved, I can hear thee, 
 Hear thy faintest breath." 
 
 Voice of Jesus calling, calling 
 " Now the stream is past, 
 
 Earthly cares and burdens falling, 
 Thou art mine, at last." 
 
 Kathleen Knox. 
 
 slmll toipe all Cears atoap, 
 
 CCXXVIII. 
 
 again the day is breaking, 
 And the beams of early morn 
 End a night of pain and waking, 
 
 To that sufferer forlorn, 
 Who, through months of tears and sorrow 
 
 On the couch of sickness lay, 
 Wishing he might go to-morrow 
 Where all tears are wiped away. 
 
 All the days of merry childhood, 
 
 In his fancy passed again, 
 When he wandered, 'mid the wild wood, 
 
 Free from sorrow, free from pain ; 
 All the joys of youth bereft him 
 
 Came to memory as he lay, 
 And he felt but one hope left him 
 
 "God shall wipe all tears away." 
 
34 2 Sacred Lyrics. 
 
 Oft he thought it hard, when round him 
 
 Stood the loving, kind, and true, 
 That the heart-ties here which bound him 
 
 Should be severed ; but he knew 
 Earthly joys are tinged with sorrow, 
 
 They must part who meet to-day : 
 There's no parting, no to-morrow, 
 
 Where all tears are wiped away. 
 
 Time rolls on the wasting fingers 
 
 Of disease have left their trace 
 On that frame yet still there lingers 
 
 ^ Brightness o'er that pallid face ; 
 Light that shows the end is nearer, 
 
 Spirit soon shall spurn the clay, 
 For he hears the whisper clearer 
 
 "God shall wipe thy tears away." 
 
 'Mid the night, as she who bore him, 
 
 Kissed his wan and woe-worn cheek, 
 There is coldness creeping o'er him, 
 
 Ah ! he can no longer speak ; 
 On that face no pang of dying, 
 
 Calm as slumbering there he lay, 
 No more sorrow, no more sighing 
 
 God hath wiped his tears away. 
 
 John P. MacAfee, M.D. 
 
 ong of tfje Pilgrim, 
 
 CCXXIX. 
 
 OJ'M weary, Oh, I'm weary- 
 How weary for " THE REST," 
 Though it lay in pathless forest, 
 Where the wild bird builds her nest 
 
Sacred Lyrics. 343 
 
 I'd lay these throbbing temples 
 
 On a cold uncover'd stone, 
 If only I might rest me ; 
 
 Chill, houseless, and alone. 
 
 I'm weary, Oh, how weary ! 
 
 I've toiled till night is nigh, 
 And sunset calm is gilding 
 
 The far-off Western sky : 
 While languid eyes are closing, 
 
 And drooping eyelids weep, 
 I, too, way-worn and weary, 
 
 Would lay me down to sleep. 
 
 I'd sleep, where fond ones slumber 
 
 Beneath the smooth green sod, 
 And dream with them of waking, 
 
 And rest, like them, with God : 
 Earth's dreams ! ye all are baseless ; 
 
 Earth's hopes ! ye all have fled ; 
 Earth's joys ! poor vanished visions ; 
 
 All, all around are dead. 
 
 Earth's flow'rets ! pale and pining, 
 
 Ye waked to smile and die 
 Fain would I seek to find you 
 
 Beyond that stilly sky : 
 Oh ! for the clime all cloudless, 
 
 Oh ! for the endless day ! 
 For there are hearts that change not, 
 
 There love knows no decay. 
 
 No pilgrim there sits lonely, 
 
 By wayside bleak and bare ; 
 Nor blighted hopes and broken, 
 
 Nor solitude is there. 
 I'm weary, Oh ! I'm weary 
 
 Oh ! now to share His rest ! 
 Here, once the " Man of Sorrows," 
 
 There, Joy of all the Blest. 
 
 * Canon Macllwaine. 
 
344 
 
 Sacred Lyrics. 
 
 R>ope of t&e aim, 
 
 ccxxx. 
 
 CITY ! brighter than the sun, 
 Than the silver moon more fair ; 
 Height, by saints and martyrs won, 
 Climbed through want, and woe, and care- 
 
 Oft, methinks, I see thy gates, 
 Each a pearl, of purest ray ; 
 
 Hear the jubilee which waits 
 Those who walk thy golden way ; 
 
 View thy walls, as crystal clear, 
 
 Built with gem and precious stone ; 
 
 Bring thy vision'd glories near, 
 Catch the radiance of thy throne ; 
 
 Pause to hear the central psalm 
 Rising round the fount of love, 
 
 Where the white robe and the palm 
 Grace that host, all hosts above. 
 
 And should earth come gliding in, 
 Such brief moments' bliss to blight 
 
 Strong temptation, dream of sin, 
 Cloud of sorrow, shade of night 
 
 Still thy brightness o'er me shed, 
 
 Draws to heaven the silent prayer 
 Oh ! the paths of peace to tread ! 
 
 Least and lowest only there ! 
 
 * Canon Macllwaine. 
 
The ancient Hymns of the Irish Church, which are translated in the 
 "Lyra," are here given in the original Latin. The Editor has been 
 prompted thus to reprint them by the consideration that they may not 
 be very readily accessible to some readers, as also that they may prove 
 interesting and useful, for the purpose of comparison with the several 
 English versions. 
 
 i Patricii 
 
 ao Cemoriam, 
 
 OCD Temoriam hodie potentiam praepollentem invoco 
 
 **' Trinitatis, 
 
 Credo in Trinitatem sub (177) unitate (TOV) numinis elemen- 
 
 torum. 
 Apud Temoriam hodie virtutem nativitatis Christi cum ea 
 
 ejus baptismi, 
 
 Virtutem crucifixionis cum ea ejus sepulturse, 
 Virtutem resurrectionis cum ea ascensionis, 
 Virtutem adventus ad judicium ceternum. 
 Apud Temoriam hodie virtutem amoris Seraphim in obsequio 
 
 angelorum, 
 
 In spe resurrectionis ad adipiscendim praemium. 
 In orationibus nobilium Patrum, 
 In prsedictionibus prophetarum, 
 In prsedicationibus apostolorum, 
 In fide confessorum, 
 
34 6 Appendix. 
 
 In castitate sanctarum virginum, 
 
 In actis justorum virorum. 
 
 Apud Temoriam hodie potentiam cceli, 
 
 Lucem sol is, 
 
 Candorem nivis, 
 
 Vim ignis, 
 
 Rapiditatem fulguris, 
 
 Velocitatem venti, 
 
 Profunditatem maris, 
 
 Stabilitatem terrse, 
 
 Duritiam petrarum. 
 
 Ad Temoriam hodie potentia Dei me dirigat, 
 
 Potestas Dei me conserve!, 
 
 Sapientia Dei me edoceat, 
 
 Oculus Dei mihi provideat, 
 
 Auris Dei me exaudiat, 
 
 Verbum Dei me disertum faciat, 
 
 Manus Dei me protegat, 
 
 Via Dei mihi patefiat, 
 
 Scutum Dei me protegat, 
 
 Exercitis Dei me defendat, 
 
 Contra insidias doemonum, 
 
 Contra illecebras vitiorum, 
 
 Contra inclinationes animi, 
 
 Contra omnem hominem qui meditetur injuriam mihi, 
 
 Procul et prope, 
 
 Cum paucis et cum multis. 
 
 Posui circa me sane (ras) omnes, potentias, has 
 
 Contra omnem potentiam hostilem saevam 
 
 Excogitatam meo corpori et meae animse; 
 
 Contra incantamenta pseudo-vatum, 
 
 Contra nigras leges gentilitatis, 
 
 Contra pseudo-leges haereseos, 
 
 Contra dolum idololatriae, 
 
 Contra incantamenta mulierum, 
 
 Et fabrorum ferrariorum et dmidum, 
 
 Contra omnem scientiam quae occoecat animum hominis. 
 
 Christus me protegat hodie 
 
 Contra venenum, 
 
 Contra combustionem, 
 
Appendix. 347 
 
 Contra demersionem, 
 
 Contra vulnera, 
 
 Donee meritus essem multum praemii. 
 
 Christus (sit) mecum, 
 
 Christus ante me, 
 
 Christus me pone, 
 
 Christus in me, 
 
 Christus infra me, 
 
 Christus supra me, 
 
 Christus ad dextram meam, 
 
 Christus ad laevam meam, 
 
 Christus hine, 
 
 Christus illine, 
 
 Christus a tergo. 
 
 Christus (sit) in corde omnis hominis quern alloquar, 
 
 Christus in ore cujusvis qui me alloquatur, 
 
 Christus in omni oculo qui me videat, 
 
 Christus in omni aure quse me audiat. 
 
 Ad Temoriam hodie potentiam praepollentem invoco Trini- 
 
 tatis. 
 
 Credo in Trinitatem sub (rrj) Unitate numinis elementorum. 
 Domini est salus, 
 Domini est salus, 
 Christi est salus, 
 Salus tua, Domine, sit semper nobiscum. 
 
Appendix. 
 
 Sjumnus . 
 
 LTUS prositor vetustus dierum et ingenitus, 
 Erat absque origine primordii et crepidine, 
 Est et erit in secula seculorum infinita ; 
 Cui est unigenitus Christus, et Sanctus Spiritus, 
 Coaeternus in gloria deitatis perpetua : 
 Non tris Deos depromimus sed unum Deum dicimus, 
 Salva fide in personis tribus gloriosissimis. 
 
 * The original of this ancient and justly celebrated Hymn, a 
 translation of which, from the pen of the late Dr. Todd, slightly 
 modified, appears at p. 8 of the Lyra, is here given from the Liber 
 Hymnorum. For a full account of both the Hymn itself and Dr. Todd's 
 version, the reader is referred to that publication, and to the learned 
 notes there appended. It may here be briefly stated that the Hymn 
 was first printed by Colgan from an ancient copy, supposed to be 
 that now found at St. Isidore's, in Rome. The text printed by Dr. 
 Todd, and here reprinted, is chiefly from the MS. in Trin. Col., Dublin. 
 Originally the Hymn consisted of alphabetical stanzas, from AtoZ. Those 
 from O to X, inclusive, are missing, a leaf having been lost from the Dublin 
 MS. They have been supplied by Dr. Todd, from Colgan's copy of the 
 Trias Thaumaturga ; the MS. which contains the Hymn, the Leabhar 
 Breacc, in the library of the Royal Irish Academy, being still more 
 defective than that of Trinity College, all the stanzas after H being lost. 
 The Hymn is written, as Dr. Todd observes, " in a rude Latinity." 
 The transcript of it, however, here given, will prove interesting to the 
 student of Irish antiquity. It is reprinted accurately from the Liber 
 Ilymnorum, Fasciculus ii. p. 205. Its archaisms and orthography are 
 preserved, and hence some of the terms may, unfortunately, be unintel- 
 ligible, at least without study and reference to lexicons of mediaeval 
 latinity, although the context will enable most readers, with some care, 
 to ascertain their meaning. It may be as well to add, that the title, 
 " Altus Prosator" (spelt also prositor} is properly rendered " High 
 Father" by Dr. Todd. The latter term is derived from/ rosero, to bring 
 forth, beget, and strictly means creator. The meaning of this and other 
 difficult or obselete terms is fully discussed in the learned notes of the 
 publication here quoted, as already mentioned. 
 
Appendix. 349 
 
 ll&ONOS creavit angelos ordines et archangelos 
 ^* Principatuum ac sedium, potestatum, virtutium ; 
 
 Uti non esset bonitas otiosa ac majestas, 
 
 Trinitatis in omnibus largitatis muneribus, 
 
 Sed haberet celestia in quibus previgilia 
 
 Ostenderet magnopere possibili fatimine. 
 
 de regni apice stationis angelicas, 
 " Claritate praefulgoris venustate speciminis, 
 Superbiendo ruerat Lucifer, quern formaverat, 
 Apostataeque angeli eodem lapsu lugubri ; 
 Auctoris cenodoxiae pervicacis invidiae, 
 Ceteris remanentibus in suis principatibus. 
 
 magnus deterrimus, terribilis et antiquus, 
 Qui fuit serpens lubricus sapientior omnibus 
 Bestiis et animantibus terrae feracioribus, 
 Tertiam partem siderum traxit secum in barathrum 
 Locorum infernalium diversorumque carcerum, 
 Refuga veri luminis parasite praecipites. 
 
 /ittXCELSUS mundi machinam previdens et armoniam 
 ^"' Caelum et terram fecerat, mare et aquas condidit, 
 Herbarum quoque germina, virgultorum arbuscula, 
 Solem, lunam, ac sidera, ignem et necessaria ; 
 Aves, pisces, et peccora, bestias et animalia, 
 Hominem demum, regere protoplastum praesagmine. 
 
 sideribus, etheris luminaribus, 
 J' Collaudaverunt angeli factura prsemirabili 
 Immensse molis Dominum opincem celestium 
 Preconio laudabile debito et immobile, 
 Concentuque egregio grates egerunt Domino 
 Amore et arbitrio non naturae donario. 
 
 /tgRASSATIS primis duobus seductisque parentibus, 
 ^^ Secundo ruit Zabulus, cum suis satilitibus ; 
 Quorum horrore vultuum sonoque volitantium 
 Consternarentur homines, metu territi fragiles, 
 Non valentes carnalibus haec intueri visibus, 
 Qui nunc ligantur fascibus ergastulorum nexibus. 
 
Appendix. 
 
 1C sublatus e medio dejectus est a Domino, 
 Cujus aeris spatium constipatur satilitum, 
 Globo invisibilium turbido perduellium, 
 Ne malis exemplaribus imbuti ac sceleribus, 
 Nullis unquam tegentibus septis ac parietibus, 
 Fornicarentur homines palam omnium oculis. 
 
 NVEHUNT nubes pontias ex fontibus brumalias, 
 
 Tribus profundioribus occiani dodrantibus, 
 Maris celi climatibus ceruleis turbinibus, 
 Profuturas segetibus, viniis et germinibus, 
 Agitatae flaminibus tesauris emergentibus, 
 Quique paludes marinas evacuant reciprocas. 
 
 kADUCA ac tirannica mundique momentania, 
 ^ Regum presenti gloria nutu Dei depossita, 
 Ecce gigantes gemere sub aquis magno ulcere, 
 Comprobantur incendio aduri ac suplicio ; 
 Cocitique carubdibus strangulati turgentibus, 
 Scillis obtecti fluctibus eliduntur et scropibus. 
 
 ^T 
 
 ^ 
 
 IGATAS aquas nubibus frequenter crebrat Dominus, 
 Ut ne erumpant protinus simul ruptis obicibus ; 
 Quarum uberioribus venis velut uberibus 
 Pedetemtim natantibus telli pertractus istius, 
 Gellidis ac ferventibus diversis in temporibus, 
 Usquam influunt flumina nunquam deficientia. 
 
 Dei virtutibus appenditur dialibus 
 T Globus terras et circulus abyssi, magnse inditus, 
 Suffulta Dei iduma omipotentis valida, 
 Columnis velut vectibus eundem sustentantibus ; 
 Promontoriis et rupibus solidis fundaminibus, 
 Velut quibusdam bassibus firmatis immobilibus. 
 
 7)ULLI videtur dubium in imis esse infernum, 
 ^ Ubi habentur tenebrae, vermes, ac dirae bestiae ; 
 Ubi ignis solphorius ardens flammis edacibus, 
 Ubi rugitus hominum fletus ac stridor dentium, 
 Ubi gehennae gemitus, terribilis et antiquus, 
 Ubi ardor flammaticus sitis famisque horridus. 
 
Appendix. 351 
 
 RBEM infra, lit legimus, incolas esse novimus, 
 
 Quorum genu prsecario frequenter flectit Domino, 
 Quibusque impossibile librum scriptum revolvere, 
 Obsignatum signaculis .......... monitis, 
 
 Quern idem resignaverat, per quern victor extiterat, 
 Explens sui praesagmina adventus prophetalia. 
 
 LANTATUM a prohemio Paradisum a Domino 
 
 Legimus in Primordio Genesis nobilissimo. 
 Cujus ex fonte flumina quatuor sunt manantia, 
 Cujus et situm florido lignum vitae est medio 
 Cujus non cadunt folia gentibus salutifera 
 Cujus inenarrabiles deliciae ac fertiles. 
 
 UIS ad condictum Domini montem conscendit Sinai, 
 
 Quis audivit tonitrua supra modum sonantia ? 
 Quis clangorem perstreperae enormitatis buccinae ? 
 Quis quoque vidit fulgura in gyro coruscantia ? 
 Quis lampades et jacula, saxaque collidentia ? 
 Prseter Israelitici Moysen judicern populi ? 
 
 EGIS regum rectissimi, prope est dies Domini ; 
 
 Dies irae et vindictae, tenebrarum et nebulae ; 
 Diesque mirabilium tonitruorum fortium ; 
 Dies quoque angustiae, moeroris ac tristitiae ; 
 In quo cessabit mulierum amor et desiderium, 
 Hominumque contentio, mundi hujus et cupido. 
 
 ^T ANTES erimus pavidi ante tribunal Domini ; 
 ^ Reddemusque de omnibus rationem effectibus ; 
 Videntes quoqne posita ante obtutus crimina, 
 Librosque conscientiae patefactos in facie, 
 In fletus amarissimos ac singultus erumpemus, 
 Subtracta necessaria operandi materia. 
 
 primi Archangeli strepente admirabilia 
 Erumpent munitissima claustra ac poliandria, 
 Mnndi praesentis frigora hominum liquescentia, 
 Undique conglobantibus ad compagines ossibus, 
 Animabus satherialibus eisdem obeuntibus, 
 Rursumque redeuntibus debitis in mansionibus. 
 
352 Appendix. 
 
 AGATUR ex climatico Orion cceli cardine, 
 
 Derelicto Virgilio astrorum splendissimo, 
 Per methas Tithis ignoti Orientalis circuli, 
 Girans certis ambagibus redit priscis reditibus, 
 Oriens post biennium, vesperugo in vesperum, 
 Sumpta in proplasmatibus tropicis intellectibus. 
 
 de ccelis Domino descendente altissimo, 
 Praefulgebit clarissimum signum crucis et vexillum, 
 Tactisque luminaribus duobus principalibus, 
 Cadent in terram sydera, ut fructis de ficulnea, 
 Eritque mundi spatium, ut fornacis incendium, 
 Tune in montium specubus abscondent se exercitus. 
 
 J0MNORUM cantionibus sedulo tinnientibus, 
 ?-' Tropodis sanctis milibus angelorum vernantibus, 
 Quatuorque plenissimis animalibus oculis, 
 Cum viginti felicibus quatuor senioribus, 
 Coronas admittentibus Agni Dei sub pedibus, 
 Laudatur tribus vicibus Trinitas eternalibus. 
 
 ELUS ignis furibundus consumet adversarios 
 
 Nolentes Christum credere Deo a patre venisse : 
 Nos vero evolabimus et protinus, 
 Et sic cum ipso erimus in diversis ordinibus, 
 Dignitatum pro mentis premiorum perpetuis, 
 Permansuri in gloria a seculis in gloria. 
 
 Quis potest Deo placere novissimo in tempore 
 Variatis insignibus veritatis ordinibus, 
 Excertis contemptoribus mundi presentis istius. 
 
 Deum patrem ingenitum, celi et terrse Dominum, 
 Ab eodemque Filium, secula ante primogenitum ; 
 Deumque Spiritum Sanctum, verum unum altissimum, 
 Invoco ab auxillium mihi oportunissimum, 
 Minimo prestet omnium sibi deservientium, 
 Quern angelorum milibus consociabit Dominum. 
 
Appendix. 353 
 
 >ancti dentte.* 
 
 III. 
 
 ,ANCTI venite, 
 Christi corpus sumite ; 
 Sanctum bibentes 
 Quo redempti sanguinem. 
 
 Salvati Christi 
 
 Corpore et sanguine, 
 A quo refecti, 
 Laudes dicamus Deo. 
 
 Hoc sacramento 
 
 Corporis et sanguinis, 
 
 Omnes exuti 
 
 Ab inferni faucibus. 
 
 Dator salutis, 
 
 Chfistus filius Dei. 
 Mundum salvavit, 
 Per crucem et sanguinem. 
 
 Pro universis 
 
 Immolatus Dominus, 
 Ipse Sacerdos 
 Existit et hostia. 
 
 Lege preceptum 
 
 Immolari hostias, 
 Qua adumbrantur 
 Divina mysteria. 
 
 Lucis indultor 
 
 Et salvator omnium, 
 Praeclaram sanctis 
 Largitus est gratiam. 
 
 From the " Liber Hymnorum" Fasciculus i., 43. 
 X 
 
354 Appendix. 
 
 Accedant omnes 
 
 Pura mente creduli, 
 Sumant aeternam 
 Salutis custodiam. 
 
 Sanctorum custos, 
 
 Rector quoque Dominus 
 Vitae perennis 
 Largitur credentibus. 
 
 Coelestem panem 
 
 Dat esurientibus, 
 De fonte vivo 
 Prebet sitientibus. 
 
 Alpha et omega 
 
 Ipse Christus Dominus 
 Venit, venturus 
 Judicare homines. 
 
 i, pater; 
 
 f|7)OLI, pater, indulgere 
 '* Tonitrua cum fulgure, 
 Ac frangamur formidine 
 Hujus atque uridine. 
 Te timemus terribilem 
 Nullum credentes similem, 
 Te cuncta canunt carmina 
 Angelorum per agmina. 
 Teque exultent culmina 
 Caeli vagi per fulmina, 
 O Jhesu amantissime 
 
 * The two hymns following, as well as the " Altus prosator" are 
 given by Colgan in the "Trias Thaumaturga," published in 1647, with 
 preface and notes to each. They are also given in the " Liber Hym- 
 norum, ' as above. 
 
Appendix. 355 
 
 O rex regum rectissime. 
 Benedictus in secula 
 Recta regens regimina. 
 Johannes coram domino 
 Adhuc matris in utero, 
 Repletus dei gratia 
 Pro vino atque siccera. 
 Elizabeth et Zacharias 
 Virum magnum genuit, 
 Johannem baptizam 
 Precursorem domini. 
 Manet in meo corde 
 Dei amoris flamma 
 Ut in argenti vase 
 Auri ponitur gemma. 
 
 3fn te Cbrtete. 
 
 V. 
 
 te Christe credentium 
 Miserearis omnium, 
 Tu es deus in secula 
 Seculorum in gloria. 
 Deus in adjutorium 
 Intende laborantium, 
 Ad dolorum remedium 
 Festina in auxilium. 
 Deus pater credentium, 
 Deus vita viventium, 
 Deus deorum omnium, 
 Deus virtus virtutium, 
 Deus formator omnium, 
 Deus et judex judicum, 
 Deus et princeps principum 
 Elimentorum omnium. 
 Deus opis eximiae 
 Celestis hierusolimge, 
 
 X 2 
 
356 Appendix. 
 
 Deus rex regni in gloria, 
 Deus ipse viventium. 
 Deus aeterni luminis 
 Deus inenarrabilis, 
 Deus altus amabilis 
 Deus inestimabilis. 
 Deus largus longanimis 
 Deus doctor docibilis, 
 Deus qui facit omnia 
 Nova cuncta et vetera. 
 Dei patris in nomine 
 Filique sui prospere, 
 Sancti spiritus utique 
 Recto vado itenere. 
 Christus redemptor gentium 
 Christus amator virginum, 
 Christus fons sapientium, 
 Christus fides credentium. 
 Christus lorica militum, 
 Christus creator omnium, 
 Christus salus viventium 
 Et vita morientium. 
 Coronavit exercitum nostrum 
 Cum turba martirum, 
 Christus crucem ascenderat, 
 Christus mundum salvaverat. 
 Christus et nos redemeret, 
 Christus pro nobis passus est, 
 Christus infernum penetrat, 
 Christus cselum ascenderat. 
 Christus cum deo sederat 
 Ubi nunquam defuerat 
 Gloria haec est altissimo 
 Deo patri ingenito, 
 Honor ac summo filio 
 Unico unigenito. 
 Spirituique obtimo 
 Sancto perfecto sedulo, 
 Amen fiat perpetua 
 In sempiterna secula. 
 
Appendix. 357 
 
 De JSatttntate Domini.* 
 
 VI. 
 
 2[ SOLIS ortus cardine, 
 **" Ad usque terrse limitem, 
 Christum canamas principem, 
 Natum Maria Virgine. 
 
 Beatus auctor saeculi 
 Servile corpus induit, 
 Ut carne carnem liberans, 
 Ne perderet quos condidit. 
 
 Castse parentis viscera 
 Caelestis intrat gratia, 
 Venter puellae bajulat 
 Secreta quae non noverat. 
 
 Domus pudici pectoris 
 Templum repente fit Dei, 
 Intacta nesciens virum 
 Verbo concepit filium. 
 
 Enixa est puerpera 
 Quern Gabriel praedixerat, 
 Quern matris alvo gestiens 
 Clausus Johannes senserat. 
 
 Fceno jacere pertulit 
 Praesepe non abhorruit, 
 Parvoque lacte pastus est, 
 Per quern nee ales esurit. 
 
 Gaudet chorus coelestium 
 Et angeli canunt Deo, 
 Palamque fit pastoribus 
 Pastor Creator omnium. 
 
 For an English version of this Hymn of Sedulius, see the " Lyra, " 
 
358 Appendix. 
 
 Hostis Herodes impie 
 Christum venire quid times ? 
 Non arripit mortalia 
 Qui regni dat coelestia. 
 
 Ibant Magi quam viderant 
 Stellam sequentes praeviam, 
 Lumen requirunt lumine, 
 Deum fatentur munere. 
 
 Caterva matrum personal, 
 Collisa deflens pignora, 
 Quorum tyrannus millia, 
 Christo sacravit victima. 
 
 Lavacra puri gurgitis, 
 Ccelestis agnus attigit, 
 Peccata quae non detulit, 
 Nos abluendo sustulit. 
 
 Miraculis dedit fidem 
 Habere se Deum Patrem, 
 Infirma sanans corpora, 
 Resuscitans cadavera. 
 
 Novum genus potentiae, 
 Aquae rubescent hydriae 
 Vinumque jussa fundere, 
 Mutavit unda originem. 
 
 Orat salutem servulo, 
 Flexus genu centurio, 
 Credentis ardor plurimus, 
 Extinxit ignes febrium. 
 
 Petrus per undas ambulat, 
 Christi levatus dextera, 
 Natura quam negaverat 
 Fides paravit semitam. 
 
Appendix. 359 
 
 Quarta die jam fcetidus 
 Vitam recepit Lazarus, 
 Cunctisque liber vinculis, 
 Factus superstes est sibi. 
 
 Rivos cruoris horridi 
 Contacta vestis obstruit, 
 Flectu rigante supplicis 
 Arent fluenta sanguinis. 
 
 Solutus omni corpore 
 Jussus repente surgere, 
 Suis vicissim gressibus. 
 vehebat lectulum. 
 
 Tune ille Judas carnifex 
 Ausus magistrum tradere, 
 Pacem ferebat osculo, 
 Quam non habebat pectore. 
 
 Verax datur fallacibus, 
 Pium flagellat impius, 
 Crucique fixus innocens 
 Conjungitur latronibus. 
 
 Xeromyrrham post Sabbatum 
 Quaedam vehebant corpori, 
 Quas allocutus angelus 
 Vivum sepulchre non tegi. 
 
 Hymnis venite dulcibus 
 Omnes canamus subditum, 
 Christ! triumpho Tartarum, 
 Qui nos redemit venditus. 
 
 Zelum Draconis invidit 
 Atque os leonis pessimi, 
 Calcavit unicus Dei, 
 Seseque coelis reddidit. 
 
360 Appendix. 
 
 Jn trouble anD in grief, 2D <J5oti, 
 
 CCXXVII. 
 
 In trouble and in grief, O God, 
 
 Thy smile hath cheered my way ; 
 
 And joy hath budded from each thorn 
 That round my footseps lay. 
 
 The hours of pain have yielded good, 
 Which prosperous days refused ; 
 
 As herbs, though scentless when entire, 
 Perfume the air when bruised. 
 
 The oak strikes deeper, as its boughs 
 
 By furious blasts are driven ; 
 So life's vicissitudes the more 
 
 Have fixed my heart in heaven. 
 
 All-gracious Lord ! whate'er my lot 
 
 At other times may be, 
 I'll welcome still the heaviest grief 
 
 That brings me near to Thee. 
 
 Richard T. P. Pope, M.A. 
 
Itrbex 0f JitBt |Cints. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 " Able to Succour" in the hour... ... ... ... ... 243 
 
 A dream of many waters. I beheld . , . ... ... 26 
 
 Ad Temoriam hodie potentiam praepollentem invoco Trinitatis 345 
 
 Agnus Dei ! when the heart is wtary ... ... ... ... 295 
 
 Ah ! Cruel Reaper of the Flowers... ... ... ... 95 
 
 All bounteous Lord of Harvest... ... ... ... ... 268 
 
 Altus prositor vetustus dierum et ingenitus ... ... 348 
 
 A messenger that stood beside my bed... ... ... ... 58 
 
 Angel of charity, who from above ... ... ... ... 277 
 
 A solis ortus cardine ... ... ... ... .. ... 357 
 
 As panting flies the hunted hind ... ... ... ... 279 
 
 As when a seeker findeth ... ... ... ... ... 173 
 
 At Tarah to-day, in this awful hour... ... ... ... 4 
 
 Banquet of love ! O feast divine ... ... ... ... 318 
 
 Bear your cross, Christian, yes bravely bear on ... ... 306 
 
 Blest be the day, all gracious Lord 221 
 
 Blest were the chosen three ... ... ... ... ... 322 
 
 But how shall we be glad ? ... ... ... ... ... 22 
 
 By Nebo's lonely mountain ... ... ... ... ... 59 
 
 Cast thy bread upon the waters... ... ... ... ... 335 
 
 Children of the new creation ... ... ... ... 145 
 
 Christ is born, go tell the story... ... ... ... ... 213 
 
 Christ, our Sun, on us arose ... ... ... ... 261 
 
 City! brighter than the sun ... ... ... ... ,.. 344 
 
 Come, Holy Ghost, and from on high ... ... ... 198 
 
 Come in, sweet thought, come in ... ... .. ... 51 
 
 Crowned with thorns, arrayed in purple ... ... ... 235 
 
 Day of ire, woe worth that day ... ... ... ... 17 
 
 Down from the mount he cometh ... ... ... ... 315 
 
 Draw nigh, ye holy ones, draw nigh 195 
 
 "Earth to earth, and dust to dust" ... ... ... ... 271 
 
 Enthroned and mantled in a snow-white robe ... ... 103 
 
362 Index of First Lines. 
 
 Ere the lonely power of night 281 
 
 Eternal Spirit ! Thou whose wing 225 
 
 Fair in their sunny beds they grew 9 
 
 Father, keep under 
 
 For every sorrow here on earth ... ... 334 
 
 Forth from the camp of Israel 6 7 
 
 From England's gilded halls of state 4 8 
 
 From out the cloud of amber light ... 
 
 From sorrow's depths to Thee I cry ... ... ... 84 
 
 From the far rising of the sun ... ... ... ... 13 
 
 Give thanks to God, the Lord 228 
 
 Give thyself to Jesus' hand ... ... ... ... ... 3 12 
 
 God's Son was "born a light arose, and darkness fled from 
 
 earth away ... ... . .. ... 158 
 
 Great huntsman of the eastern sky, Orion huge and bright 1 50 
 
 Great Jehovah ! we will praise Thee ... ... ... ... 264 
 
 Hark ! the sounds of gladness ... ... ... ... 216 
 
 Hark! the voice of loud lament ... ... ... ... 85 
 
 Hark! what notes of rolling thunder ... ... ... 230 
 
 Has the peace of God relieved you ... ... ... ... 126 
 
 Heaven ring with rapture ... ... ... ... ... 197 
 
 He is not dead but sleepeth ... ... ... 112 
 
 High sate King Edwin in his hall ... ... ... ... 169 
 
 His impress was stamped on their tone and voice ... ... 334 
 
 Holy Spirit, love divine ... ... ... ... ... 260 
 
 How great the loss, how foul the stain 314 
 
 How long, O Lord, how long ! ... ... ... ... 107 
 
 How vast the little infinite, where march 190 
 
 J bind to myself to-day ... ... ... ... ... I 
 
 I dreamed of a phantom Christ 297 
 
 If there be power in song's harmonious meed 147 
 
 I have ere now been half inclined 180 
 
 I'm weary, oh, I'm weary 342 
 
 In deep affliction's troubled hour ... ... ... ... 284 
 
 Injured, hopeless, faint and weary 82 
 
 In te Christe credentium ... ... ... ... ... 355 
 
 Into a garden at the dawn of day 330 
 
 In trouble and in grief, O God 360 
 
 In trouble for my sin I cried to God 57 
 
 In youthful dignity and lovely grace ... ... ... ... 37 
 
 I said, " I will find God," and forth I went 289 
 
 Israel on Moreh's steep 129 
 
Index of First Lines. 363 
 
 I stood beside the margin of a sea 192 
 
 I stood beside yon fountain, where the sun ... ... 302 
 
 I stood by the unvintageable sea ... ... ... ... 324 
 
 It breathes no more ! one low drawn sigh ... ... 285 
 
 I would fain enjoy the sunshine ... ... ... ... 155 
 
 Jehovah Sabaoth 238 
 
 Jesu, most loving One, who from Thy glory's throne ... 262 
 
 Jesus, at Thy command ... ... ... ... ... 212 
 
 Jesus drains the cup of sorrows... ... ... ... ... 214 
 
 Learning sat in a lonely tower 55 
 
 Lent marks the Spring, it is the spring of tears ... ... 303 
 
 Lift high your notes ... ... ... .. ... ... 239 
 
 Light of the lonely pilgrim's heart ... ... ... .. 254 
 
 Lord, Christ, if Thou art with us, and these eyes . . . 290 
 
 Lord! ere we turn us to repose ... ... ... ... 226 
 
 Lord, I have knelt and tried to pray to-night ... ... 289 
 
 Lord, many times I am aweary quite ... ... ... ... 280 
 
 Lord, of Thy mercy hear our cry ... ... ... ... 247 
 
 Lord supreme, in glory dwelling ... ... ... ... 223 
 
 " Lovest thou Me ?" to him who wailed his folly... ... 15? 
 
 Men walk astray in ignorance ; or grow ... ... ... 102 
 
 Merrily the minster bells ... ... ... ... ... 293 
 
 Morning cometh, wanes the night ... ... ... ... 265 
 
 My breast was as a briary brake ... ... ... ... 53 
 
 My Father, when I hear Thy voice ... ... ... ... 257 
 
 Nay, come not thus : white lilies in the Spring ... ... 325 
 
 Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled ... ... 54 
 
 Noli, pater, indulgere ... ... ... ... ... 354 
 
 Now God suspends its shadowy pall .. ... ... ... 106 
 
 Now I draw near, alone, apart ... ... ... ... 292 
 
 O brooding Spirit of Wisdom and of Love ... ... ... 327 
 
 O'er heaven's pure arch a star of living light ... ... 282 
 
 O for the robes of whiteness ... ... ... ... ... 244 
 
 O God of Calvary and Bethlehem ... ... ... ... 329 
 
 Oh! if the atheist's words were true ... ... ... ... 278 
 
 Oh, seek not that the world should know ... ... ... 287 
 
 O Jesus ! blessed Saviour ... ... ... ... ... 242 
 
 O King, most meek, most lowly 266 
 
 O King of wounds ! O Son of Heaven ! who died ... ... 279 
 
 O life, O death, O world, O time 25 
 
364 Index of First Lines. 
 
 O Lord, thou knowest all the snares 248 
 
 O man of sorrows, hast thou given to me 246 
 
 O memory ! O memory ... ... ... 74 
 
 Once again the day is breaking 34 1 
 
 Once in royal David's city ... 251 
 
 O soul, held prisoner out of reach ... ... ... ... 77 
 
 O suffering saint ! and too severely tried 326 
 
 On summer eves 34 
 
 On the mountain's top appearing 217 
 
 O Thou from whom no heart is hidden : 256 
 
 O Thou, who dry'st the mourner's tear... ... ... ... 274 
 
 O Thou, whose all-enlivening ray 315 
 
 Our Lord Christ hath risen ... ... ... ... ... 255 
 
 O weary souls, whose dreams fly fast and fleet 75 
 
 O well lor him who lives at ease ... ... ... .. 324 
 
 O wonderful ! round whose birth-hour 34 
 
 O world ! thou hoary monster, whose old age ... ... 189 
 
 On yester eve, I saw at play ... .. ... ... 190 
 
 Pity on us, heavenly Father 236 
 
 Praise the Lord, for He is gracious, praise the Lord for He 
 
 isjust... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 141 
 
 Praying to Thee, our wills do not require ... ... ... 338 
 
 Proud Reason, Science, now engross the world ... ... 123 
 
 Read me a tale to-night, my love ... ... ... ... 79 
 
 Rest in the Lord, blest in the Lord ... ,.. ... ... 294 
 
 Rise up, rise up, O Rahab ... ... ... ... ... 65 
 
 Roll back ye bars of light 267 
 
 Roll on, thou sun, in glory roll ... ... ... ... 269 
 
 Sancti venite ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 353 
 
 See the Lamb take up the scroll 309 
 
 See, the star that leads the day ... .. ... ... 207 
 
 Seemeth not love at times so occupied... ... ... ... 20 
 
 Shall I live till I am old ? 318 
 
 She was the fairest of all things on earth 139 
 
 Silent and sad, deep gazing on the clay ... ... ... 41 
 
 Silent leaf of autumn ... ... ... ... .. ... 134 
 
 Sinful, sighing to be blest ... ... ... ... ... 237 
 
 Sinners come, by guilt afflicted... ... ... ... ... 231 
 
 Spirit of God, descend upon my heart ... ... ... 221 
 
 Stood the mournful mother weeping ... ... ... ... 199 
 
 Sweet Dove, that homeward winging ... ... ... 277 
 
 Swift o'er the desert plains the wild wind sweeps ... ... 301 
 
Index of First Lines. 365 
 
 Teach us, Almighty Lord, this day ... ... ... 220 
 
 Tell us, thou glorious star of eve ... ... ... ... 270 
 
 The air is chill, the ground is frore ... ... ... no 
 
 The beam-repelling mists arise ... ... ... ... ... 208 
 
 The bird in the bower ... ... ... ... ... 311 
 
 The bird let loose in eastern skies ... ... ... ... 273 
 
 The Christ-child came to my bed onf night .. ... 299 
 
 The crimson petals of the withering day ... ... ... 333 
 
 The Father exalted, ancient of days, unbegotten ... 8 
 
 The head that once was crowned with thorns... ... ... 215 
 
 The heaven of heavens cannot contain ... ... ... 229 
 
 The last faint glimmer of sunset gold ... ... ... ... 72 
 
 The love of my heart is Thy heart, O Saviour dear ... 91 
 
 The marvels of the seas and earth ... ... ... ... 105 
 
 The noblest songs that angels sing ... ... ... 232 
 
 The roseate hues of early dawn... ... .. ... ... 250 
 
 Thereafter I beheld, and lo ! in heaven ... ... ... 97 
 
 There is a bleak desert when daylight grows weary ... ... 276 
 
 There is a joy unknown in heaven ... ... ... 233 
 
 There is a single stone ... ... ... ... ... ... 299 
 
 They spake to him of old who sat ... ... ... ... 86 
 
 They were simple of speech and mind ... ... .. ... 88 
 
 Thine, Father, is the Kingdom ... ... ... ... 177 
 
 Thou art gone up on high ... ... ... ... ... 248 
 
 Thou art, O God, the life and light 272 
 
 Thou inevitable day ... ... ... ... ... ... 24 
 
 Thou knowest all : I seek in vain... ... ... ... 325 
 
 Thou, who all men dost relieve... ... ... ... ... 202 
 
 Thou whose meek eyes are bending o'er my page ... 191 
 
 Through mighty Nineveh . . ... ... ... ... 167 
 
 Thy light and thy salvation ... ... ... ... 241 
 
 Thy temple, Lord, it nobly stands ... ... .. ... 317 
 
 Thy way is best, my Father ... ... ... ... 245 
 
 'Tis an angel of light and love ... ... ... ... ... 171 
 
 'Tis true I have out-felt and have out-thought ... ... 328 
 
 To Calvary, Lord, in spirit now ... ... ... ... 253 
 
 To God give foremost praises ... ... ... ... 50 
 
 To God ye choir above begin ... ... ... ... ... 205 
 
 'Twas on the plain of Dura ... ... ... ... 69 
 
 Two lines bright issues of undying mind ... ... ... 187 
 
 Under an aged olive by the sea ... ... ... ... 182 
 
 Uplift the voice of melody, your choicest numbers bring ... 224 
 Upon the hill the prophet stood ... ... ... ... 45 
 
 Vainly were talents, many a one ... ... ... ... 321 
 
 Voice of Jesus, calling, calling ... ... ... ... 340 
 
366 Index of First Lines. 
 
 Waves, waves, waves 280 
 
 Weary with my load of sin ... ... ... ... ... 263 
 
 We've no abiding city here ... ... ... ... .. 218 
 
 Were not the sinful Mary's tears 275 
 
 What mean they standing aloof, the people who watch us and 
 
 weep? 120 
 
 What ! weeping ? Had ye your Christ yesterday . . . 290 
 
 When backward on my actions past ... ... .. ... 204 
 
 When Christ hath spoken to a human heart ... ... 338 
 
 When I wander by the ocean ... ... ... ... 93 
 
 When late on life's departed years ... ... ... ... 284 
 
 When low and selfish is the life I lead .. 307 
 
 When my love is failing... ... ... ... 258 
 
 When my feet have wandered ... ... ... ... 233 
 
 When sorrow appears and the bosom despaireth ... ... 328 
 
 When Truth's dread light around us flashes ... ... 330 
 
 When the disciples saw each surging hill ... ... ... 327 
 
 When the riddle of thy life darkest seems ... ... 296 
 
 When thou dost meet the dead ... ... ... ... ... 132 
 
 When wounded sore the stricken heart ... ... ... 249 
 
 Where is the breath of heaven ... ... ... ... ... 310 
 
 Where is that garden of the Lord God planted? 63 
 
 Where in hot winds the heavy curtains swung ... ... 118 
 
 While shepherds watched their flocks by night ... ... 211 
 
 Who hath not felt the sacred hours ? ... ... ... ... 336 
 
 Who is the foe, my spirit tell ? 227 
 
 W ho may tell how often sorrow ... ... .... ... 305 
 
 Why rush the wild thousands ? 42 
 
 Why stand ye gazing, men of Galilee ? 339 
 
 Why was this forehead finely formed ? 308 
 
 With bold and tireless footsteps ... ... ... ... 175 
 
 Within His house the God of love ... 183 
 
 With its measured pause and its long-drawn wail 149 
 
 With kind compassion hear me cry ? ... ... ... 209 
 
 With tearful eyes I look around 222 
 
 Within the presence-cloud of God 61 
 
 Woman, behold thy son 319 
 
 Yea, all the paths of earth lead up to Thee 332 
 
 Yet one more step no flight 291 
 
 Zion's King shall reign victorio as 219 
 
of Authors. 
 
 *ALEXANDER, Mrs. (Cecil Frances Humphreys), xxm, xxiv, xxv, 
 
 xxvi, cxxxi, cxxxn, cxxxin, cxxxiv. 
 *ALEXANDER, Right Rev. William, D.D., Bishop of Derry ; ix, x, 
 
 CLXIV, 
 
 *ALLINGHAM, William, xx, xxi, xxn. 
 * ANDREWS, Rev. S., M.A., Presbyterian Minister, Portadown, 
 
 CLXXXIX, CXC, CXCI. 
 
 ARMSTRONG, E. J., born at Dublin, July 23, 1841 ; died Feb. 24, 
 
 1865 ; XLVIII, XLIX. 
 *ARMSTRONG, G. F. A., A.M., T.C.D., Professor of History and 
 
 English Literature, Queen's College, Cork, L, LI, LII. 
 *ASHE, Isaac, M.D., cxxxix, CXL. 
 
 *BAGOT, Very Rev. Dean, D.D., T.C.D.; cxn, cxm, cxiv, cxv. 
 *BANCROFT, Mrs. (Charitie L. Smith), cxxv, cxxvi, cxxvu. 
 BLACKER, Stewart, Lieut. -Col.; born at Carrick Blacker, co. 
 
 Armagh, 1775 ; died same place, 1855 '> cv > CVI > CVII > cvin. 
 *BROOKE, Rev. R. S., D.D., T.C.D., formerly Rector of Wyton, 
 
 Diocese Ely ; LXIII, LXIV, LXV. 
 *BROWNE, Frances, xxxvn, xxxvin, xxxix. 
 *BUCKLEY, Rev. R. W., D.D., curate of St. Peter's, Dublin, 
 
 LXVIII, LXIX, CLXXXVI, CLXXXVII, CLXXXVIII. 
 
 BUTLER, Rev. W. Archer, A.M.; born at Annerville, near Clonmel, co. 
 Tipperary, 1814; Scholar T.C.D.. 1832; Professor of Moral 
 Philosophy, 1837; Rector of Clondehorka, Diocese of Raphoe, 
 same year; died July 5, 1847 ; LXXVI, LXXVII, LXXVin, LXXIX. 
 
 CAROLAN, O'Turlough, last of Irish bards, born at Newtown, near 
 Nobber, co. Westmeath, 1670; died, 1737; CLXII. 
 
 COLUMBA, S., bom 521 ; died June 9, 597 ; buried in lona ; n, 
 LXXXV, LXXXVI ; Appendix, n, iv, v. 
 
 *CowAN, Rev. W., Incumbent of Faughanvale, Diocese of Derry, 
 cxxi, cxxii. 
 
 CROLY. Rev. George, LL.D., born at Dublin, August, 1780; Scholar, 
 T.C.D., 1798 ; Rector of S. Stephen's, Walbrook ; died Nov., 
 24, 1860 ; xin, xiv, ci, en, cm, CL, CLI, CLII. 
 
 *CusACK, Mary F., Convent of Poor Clares, Kenmare, LXXXV, 
 LXXXVI. 
 
368 List of Authors. 
 
 DE COURCY, Rev. Richard, born, 1743; A.B., T.C.D., 1767; 
 
 xcm. 
 *DENNY, Sir Edward, Bart., Tralee Castle, co. Kerry, cxxxv, 
 
 CXXXVI. 
 
 DE VERE, Sir Aubrey, Bart., born May, 1807; died July, 1846; 
 
 XLIII, XLIV. 
 
 *DE VERE, Aubrey, XLV, XLVI, XLVII. 
 
 *DOBBIN, Rev. Orlando T., B.D., LL.D., T.C.D., M.R.I.A., 
 
 Sutton, co. Dublin, LXVI, LXVII. 
 *DOWDEN, Edward, M.A., T.C.D., Professor of English Literature, 
 
 T.C.D.; CLXXI, CLXXII, CLXXIII, CLXXIV, CLXXV, CLXXVI. 
 DRENNAN, William, M.D., born at Belfast, 1752 ; died, 1820 ; 
 
 CXI. 
 DREW, Rev. Thomas, D.D., T.C.D., born at Limerick, 1800 ; 
 
 Incumbent of Christ Church, Belfast, 1833 ; Rector of Lough- 
 
 inisland, Diocese of Down, 1857 ; died Dublin, 1870 ; cxcix, 
 
 cc, cci. 
 DRUMMOND, Wm. H., D.D., born at Lame, co. Antrim, August, 
 
 1778 ; died at Dublin, October, 1865; CIX > cx - 
 
 *FAUSSETT, Mrs. H. (Alessie Bond), Edenderry Parsonage, Omagh, 
 
 xxvn, xxvui, xxix, xxx, cxxin, cxxiv. 
 *FERGUSON, Samuel, LL.D., V. P. M.R.I. A. ; xv, xvi, xvn, 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 FOSBERY, Rev. Thomas Vincent, M.A., T.C.D. ; born at Limerick, 
 October I, 1807 ; died at Blacknell. Berks, Sept. 10, 1875; 
 
 CLXXXIII, CLXXXIV, CLXXXV. 
 
 FURLONG, Thomas, born in co. Wexford, 1794 ; died, July 25, 
 1827; CLX. 
 
 GLASGOW, Rev. J., D.D., Professor of living Oriental Languages, 
 General Assembly's College, Belfast ; cxcii, cxcin, cxciv, 
 cxcv. 
 
 GOLDSMITH, Oliver, born at Pallas, co. Longford, 1728; died in 
 London ; 1774, xix, CLXI. 
 
 HAMILTON, Elizabeth, born at Dublin, November 20, 1843 J 
 
 at Castle Hamilton, Killeshandra, co. Cavan, December 26, 
 1875 J ccxiv, ccxv, ccxvi, ccxvn, ccxvni. 
 
 HAMILTON, Sir William Rowan, born at Dublin, August 4, 1805 ; 
 Astronomer Royal, Ireland, 1827; died September 2, 1865; 
 ccix, ccx, ccxi, ccxn. 
 
 *HuLL, Rev. J. D., M.A., T.C.D., Vicar of Wickhambrook, 
 Suffolk; cxx. 
 
 JEBB, Rev. John, D.D., Bishop of Limerick, born September 27, 
 1775 ; died December 7, 1832; cxcvii. 
 
List of Authors. 369 
 
 KELLY, Rev. Thomas, born Dublin, July 13, 1769; died Dublin, 
 May 14. 1855 ; xciv, xcv, xcvi, xcvn, xcvin, xcix, c. 
 
 KIRCHHOFFER, Julia" G. M., born at Bally vourney Glebe, co. Cork, 
 June i, 1855; died January 29, 1878; ccxix, ccxx, CCXXI, 
 CCXXII. 
 
 *KNOX, Kathleen, Sydenham Park, Belfast, CCXXVI. 
 
 *LITTLEDALE, Rev. R. F., LL.D., ex-Scholar, T.C.D ; CXLII, 
 CXLIII. 
 
 MACAFEE, John P., M.D., son of Rev. David MacAfee, Wesleyan 
 Minister ; died after voyage to Melbourne, at Port Philip, 
 May 16, 1859 ; ccxxvm. 
 
 MACCARTHY, Denis Florence, M.R.I. A., XL, XLI, LXXXI, LXXXII, 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 *MACCARTHY, Mary Stanislas, XLII. 
 *MAC!LWAINE, Rev. William, D.D., ex-Scholar T.C.D., M.R. I. A., 
 
 Rector of St. George's, Belfast, Canon of S. Patrick's, Dublin ; 
 
 III, IV, LXXX, CXLVI, CXLVII, CXLVIII, CXLIX, CCXXIX, CCXXX. 
 
 MANGAN, James Clarence, born at Dublin, 1803 ; died 1849 ; ! 
 'MARTIN, Rev. J. H., LL.D., ex-Scholar T.C.D., Belfast; 
 
 ecu, CCIIL 
 MASSEREENE and FERRARD, Lord Viscount, born November 30, 
 
 1812 ; died April 28, 1868 ; LIX, LX. 
 
 M'CuLLAGH, Rev. Thomas, Wesleyan Minister ; LXX, LXXI. 
 MONSELL, Rev. J. S. B., LL.D., T.C.D., born at Londonderry, 
 
 1811 ; Rector of S. Nicholas', Guildford, Surrey; died 1875 ; 
 
 LV, LVI, LVII, LVIII, LXXXIV, CXVI, CXVII, CXVIII, CXIX. 
 
 MOORE, Thomas, born at Dublin, 1780; died 1852; CLIII, CLIV, 
 
 CLV, CLVI, CLVII, CLVIII, CLIX. 
 
 *MURPHY, Joseph John, Old Forge, Belfast, LXXII, LXXIII, LXXIV, 
 cxxxvin. 
 
 *O'NEILL, Rev. Lord, Baron, ex-Scholar T.C.D. , Shane's Castle, 
 
 co. Antrim ; cxcvi. 
 OULTON, Rev. Abraham, A.B., T.C.D., born at Dublin, 1816; 
 
 Curate of St. Anne's Chapel of Ease, Belfast ; died June 4, 
 
 1848 ; ccxni. 
 
 PARNELL, Thomas, D.D., Ven. Archdeacon of Clogher; born 1679 ; 
 
 died July, 1717 ; LXXXIX, xc, xci. 
 PATRICK, S., Apostle of Ireland, born 372 ; died March 17, 466; 
 
 I. Appendix, I. 
 
 *PLUNKET, Right Rev. Lord, Bishop of Meath ; LXXV, cxxxvu. 
 POPE, Rev. Richard Thomas Pembroke, A.B. ; born at Cork, March, 
 
 I3 J 799 ; died at Kingstown, near Dublin, February 7, 1859; 
 
 ccxxvii, on p. 360. 
 
370 List of Authors. 
 
 ROBINSON, George Wade, Congregational Minister, born at Cork, 
 1838 ; died at Southampton, January 23, 1877 '> CXLIV. 
 
 SEDULIUS, Coelius, A.D. 434; iv. Appendix, vi. 
 SKELTON, Rev. Philip, born at Derriaghy, near Lisburn, co. 
 Antrim, 1707; Scholar T.C.D., 1726; died May 4, 1787; 
 
 LXXXVII, LXXXVIII. 
 
 *STEWART, Rev. J. A., M.A., T.C.D., Incumbent of Clooney, 
 
 Diocese of Derry, cciv. 
 * STOKES, Rev. H. G., M.A., Incumbent of Ardcolm, Diocese of 
 
 Ferns; LIII, LIV. 
 STUART, James, LL.D., born 1780 ; died at Belfast, 1853 ; CLXV, 
 
 CLXVI. 
 
 TATE, Nahum, D.D., T.C.D., born at Dublin, 1682 ; died 1715 ; 
 
 xcn. 
 TIGHE, Mrs. (Mary Blashford), author of "Psyche;" born, 1773; 
 
 died, 1810; xxxiv, xxxv, xxxvi. 
 
 *TODHUNTER, John, M.D., CLXXX, CLXXXI, CLXXXII. 
 
 *TOKE, Mrs. (Emma Leslie), cxxvni, cxxix, cxxx. 
 
 TRENCH, Richard Chenevix, D.D., Archbishop of Dublin, V, VI, 
 
 VII, VIII, CLXIII. 
 
 WALLER, John Francis, LL.D., T.C.D., M.R.I.A., CXLI, 
 
 CLXXVII, CLXVIII, CLXXIX. 
 
 WALSH, Very Rev. W. Pakenham, D.D., T.C.D., Dean of 
 
 Cashel ; cxcvin. 
 WEST, Elizabeth Dickinson, S. Patrick's Deanery, Dublin; ccxxiil, 
 
 ccxxiv, ccxxv. 
 WHITE, Rev. Hugh, Curate of St. Mary's, Dublin ; died 1840; 
 
 WHITE, Rev. John, Congregational Minister, Belfast ; CXLV. 
 
 WILDE, Lady, xxxi, xxxn, xxxni. 
 
 WiLDE, Oscar, ex-Scholar T.C.D., Magdalen College, Oxford; 
 
 CCV, CCVI, CCVII, CCVIII. 
 
 WILLS, Rev. James, D.D., T.C.D., born, January i, 1790; died 
 
 NOV., 1868; LXI, LXII, CLXVII, CLXVIII. 
 
 WILLS, Mrs. (Katharine Elizabeth Gorman), CLXIX, CLXX. 
 WOLFE, Rev. Charles, A.B., T.C.D.; born at Dublin, 1791 ; Sch. 
 T.C.D., 1812; died, 1821; xi, xii. 
 
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