Hymns for Lauds, Sunday--The Dream of Gerontius

SUNDAY.
^Eterne rerum conditor.

Framer of the earth and sky,
Ruler of the day and night,

With a glad variety,
Tempering all, and making light;

Gleams upon our dark path flinging,
Cutting short each night begun,

Hark ! for chanticleer is singing,
Hark ! he chides the lingering sun.

And the morning star replies,

And lets loose the imprison'd day; • And the godless bandit flies

From his haunt and from his prey.

Shrill it sounds, the storm relenting
Soothes the weary seaman's ears;

Once it wrought a great repenting,
In that flood of Peter's tears.

Rouse we ; let the blithesome cry
Of that bird our hearts awaken;

Chide the slumberers as they lie,
And arrest the sin-o'ertaken.

Hope and health are in his strain,
To the fearful and the ailing;

Murder sheathes his blade profane,
Faith revives when faith was failing.

Jesu, Master ! when we sin,
Turn on us Thy healing face;

It will melt the offence within
Into penitential grace:

Beam on our bewilder'd mind,
Till its dreamy shadows flee;

Stones cry out where Thou hast shined,
Jesu ! musical with Thee.

To the Father and the Son,

And the Spirit, who in Heaven

Ever witness, Three and One,
Praise on Earth be ever given.

SUNDAY.
Ecce jam noctis.

Paler have grown the shades of night,

And nearer draws the day, Checkering the sky with streaks of light,

Since we began to pray:

To pray for mercy when we sin,

For cleansing and release, For ghostly safety, and within

For everlasting peace.

Praise to the Father, as is meet,

Praise to the Only Son, Praise to the Holy Paraclete,

While endless ages run. MONDAY.

Splendor Paternae gloriae.

Of the Father Effluence bright,
Out of Light evolving light,
Light from Light, unfailing Ray,
Day creative of the day:

Truest Sun, upon us stream
With Thy calm perpetual beam,
In the Spirit's still sunshine
Making sense and thought divine.

Seek we too the Father's face,

Father of almighty grace,

And of majesty excelling,

Who can purge our tainted dwelling;

Who can aid us, who can break
Teeth of envious foes, and make
Hours of loss and pain succeed,
Guiding safe each duteous deed,
And infusing self-control,
Fragrant chastity of soul,
Faith's keen flame to soar on high,
Incorrupt simplicity.

Christ Himself for food be given,
Faith become the cup of Heaven,
Out of which the joy is quaff'd
Of the Spirit's sobering draught.

With that joy replenished,
Morn shall glow with modest red,
Noon with beaming faith be bright,
Eve be soft without twilight.

It has dawn'd ;—upon our way,
Father, in Thy Word, this day,
In Thy Father Word Divine,
From Thy cloudy pillar shine.

To the Father, and the Son,
And the Spirit, Three and One,
As of old, and as in Heaven,
Now and here be glory given.

TUESDAY.

Ales diei nuntius.

Day's herald bird
At length is heard,

Telling its morning torch is lit,

And small and still

Christ's accents thrill,

Within the heart rekindling it .

Away, He cries,

With languid eyes, And sickly slumbers profitless!

I am at hand,

As watchers stand, In awe, and truth, and holiness.

He will appear

The hearts to cheer Of suppliants pale and abstinent,

Who cannot sleep

Because they weep With holy grief and violent .

Keep us awake,
The fetters break,

esu ! which night has forged for us;
Yea, melt the night
To sinless light,
Till all is bright and glorious.

To Father, Son,

And Spirit, One,
To the Most Holy Trinity,

All praise be given

In Earth and Heaven,
Now, as of old, and endlessly.

WEDNESDAY.
Nox et tenebrse et nubila.

Haunting gloom and flitting shades,

Ghastly shapes, away! Christ is rising, and pervades

Highest Heaven with day.

He with His bright spear the night

Dazzles and pursues; Earth wakes up, and glows with light

Of a thousand hues.

Thee, O Christ, and Thee alone,

With a single mind, We with chant and plaint would own

To Thy flock be kind.

Much it needs Thy light divine,

Spot and stain to clean; Light of Angels, on us shine

With Thy face serene.

To the Father, and the Son,

And the Holy Ghost, Here be glory, as is done

By the angelic host.

THURSDAY.
Lux ecce surgit aurea.

See, the golden dawn is glowing,
While the paly shades are going,
Which have led us far and long,
In a labyrinth of wrong.

May it bring us peace serene;
May it cleanse, as it is clean;
Plain and clear our words be spoke,
And our thoughts without a cloak;

So the day's account, shall stand.
Guileless tongue and holy hand,
Stedfast eyes and unbeguiled,
"Flesh as of a little child."

There is One who from above
Watches how the still hours move
Of our day of service done,
From the dawn to setting sun.

To the Father, and the Son,
And the Spirit, Three and One,

As of old, and as in Heaven,
Now and here be glory given.

FRIDAY.
Sterna coeli gloria.

Glory of the eternal Heaven,
Blessed Hope to mortals given,
Of the Almighty Only Son,
And the Virgin's Holy One;
Raise us, Lord, and we shall rise

In a sober mood,
And a zeal, which glorifies

Thee from gratitude.

Now the day-star, keenly glancing,
Tells us of the Sun's advancing;
While the unhealthy shades decline,
Rise within us, Light Divine!
Rise, and, risen, go not hence,

Stay, and make us bright, Streaming through each cleansed sense,

On the outward night.

Then the root of faith shall spread
In the heart new fashioned;
Gladsome hope shall spring above,
And shall bear the fruit of love.
To the Father, and the Son,

And the Holy Ghost,
Here be glory, as is done

By the angelic host .

SATURDAY.

Aurora jam spargit polum.

The dawn is sprinkled o'er the sky,

The day steals softly on; Its darts are scatter'd far and nigh, And all that fraudful is, shall fly

Before the brightening sun; Spectres of ill, that stalk at will,

And forms of guilt lhat fright, And hideous sin, that ventures in

Under the cloak of night.

And of our crimes the tale complete,

Which bows us in Thy sight,
Up to the latest, they shall fleet,
Out-told by our full numbers sweet,
And melted by the light.

To Father, Son, and Spirit, One,
Whom we adore and love,

Be given all praise, now and always,
Here as in Heaven above.

PRIME.

Jam lucis orto sidere.
(From the Parisian Breviary.*)

Now that the day-star glimmers bright,

We suppliantly pray
That He, the uncreated Light,

May guide us on our way.

1 Vide the Anglo-Norman History of Sir Francis Palgrave (Vol. iii. p. 588), who did the Author the honor of asking him for a translation of this hymn, as also of the Christe Pastorum, infra.

No sinful word, nor deed of wrong,

Nor thoughts that idly rove;
But simple truth be on our tongue,

And in our hearts be love.

And, while the hours in order flow,

O Christ, securely fence
Our gates, beleaguer'd by the foe,—

The gate of every sense.

And grant that to Thine honor, Lord,

Our daily toil may tend; That we begin it at Thy word,

And in Thy favor end.

And, lest the flesh in its excess

Should lord it o'er the soul, Let taming abstinence repress

The rebel, and control.

To God the Father glory be,

And to His Only Son,
And to the Spirit, One and Three,

While endless ages run.

Littlcmore. February, 1842.

TERCE.

Nunc Sancte nobis Spiritus.

Come, Holy Ghost, who ever One
Reignest with Father and with Son,
It is the hour, our souls possess
With Thy full food of holiness.

Let flesh, and heart, and lips, and mind,
Sound forth our witness to mankind;
And love light up our mortal frame,
Till others catch the living flame.

Now to the Father, to the Son,
And to the Spirit, Three in One,
Be praise and thanks and glory given
By men on earth, by Saints in heaven.

SEXT.
Rector potens, verax Deus.

O God, who canst not change nor fail,
Guiding the hours, as they roll by,

Bright'ning with beams the morning pale,
And burning in the mid-day sky,

Quench Thou the fires of hate and strife,
The wasting fever of the heart;

From perils guard our feeble life,
And to our souls Thy peace impart

Grant this, O Father, Only Son,
And Holy Spirit, God of grace,

To whom all glory, Three in One,
Be given in every time and place.

NONE.
Rerum Deus tenax vigor.

O God, unchangeable and true,

Of all the Life and Power, Dispensing light in silence through

Every successive hour,

Lord, brighten our declining day,

That it may never wane, Till death, when all things round decay,

Brings back the morn again.

This grace on Thy redeem'd confer,

Father, Co-equal Son,
And Holy Ghost, the Comforter,

Eternal Three in One.

Lucis Creator optime.

Father of Lights, by

whom each day Is kindled out of

night, Who, when the heavens were made, didst lay

Their rudiments in light;
Thou, who didst bind and blend in one
The glistening morn and evening pale,
Hear Thou our plaint, when light is gone,
And lawlessness and strife prevail.

Hear, lest the whelming weight of crime

Wreck us with life in view;
Lest thoughts and schemes of sense and time

Earn us a sinner's due.
So may we knock at Heaven's door,

And strive the immortal prize to win,
Continually and evermore

Guarded without and pure within.

Grant this, O Father, Only Son,

And Spirit, God of grace,
To whom all worship shall be done

In ever}' time and place.

MONDAY.

Immense coeli conditor.

Lord of unbounded space,

Who, lest the sky and main Should mix, and heaven should lose its place, Didst the rude waters chain;

Parting the moist and rare,

That rills on earth might flow To soothe the angry flame, whene'er It ravens from below:

Pour on us of Thy grace The everlasting spring; Lest our frail steps renew the trace Of the ancient wandering.

May faith in lustre grow,

And rear her star in heaven, Paling all sparks of earth below, Unquench'd by damps of even.

Grant it, O Father, Son,

And Holy Spirit of grace,

To whom be glory, Three in One,

In every time and place.

TUESDAY.
Telluris alme conditor.

All-bountiful Creator, who,

When Thou didst mould the world, didst drain

The waters from the mass, that so

Earth might immovable remain;

That its dull clods it might transmute
To golden flowers in vale or wood,
To juice of thirst-allaying fruit,
And grateful herbage spread for food;

Wash Thou our smarting wounds and hot,
In the cool freshness of Thy grace;
Till tears start forth the past to blot,
And cleanse and calm Thy holy place;

Till we obey Thy full behest.

Shun the world's tainted touch and breath,

Joy in what highest is and best,

And gain a spell to baffle death.

Grant it, O Father, Only Son,
And Holy Spirit, God of grace;

To whom all glory, Three in One,
Be given in every time and place.

WEDNESDAY.

Coeli Deus sanctissime.

O Lord, who, thron'd in the holy height,
Through plains of ether didst diffuse
The dazzling beams of light,
In soft transparent hues;

Who didst, on the fourth day, in heaven
Light the fierce cresset of the sun,
And the meek moon at even,
And stars that wildly run;

That they might mark and arbitrate
'Twixt alternating night and day,
And tend the train sedate
Of months upon their way;

Clear, Lord, the brooding night within,
And clean these hearts for Thy abode,
Unlock the spell of sin,
Crumble its giant load.

Grant it, O Father, Only Son,
And Holy Spirit, God of grace,
To whom all praise be done
In every time and place.

THURSDAY.

Magnse Deus potentiae.

O God, who hast given

the sea and the sky, To fish and to bird

for a dwelling to keep Both sons of the waters,

one low and one high, Ambitious of heaven,

yet sunk in the deep;

Save, Lord, Thy servants,

whom Thou hast new made In a laver of blood,

lest they trespass and die; Lest pride should elate,

or sin should degrade, And they stumble on earth,

or be dizzied on high.

To the Father and Son
And the Spirit be done,
Now and always,
Glory and praise.

FRIDAY.

Hominis superne Conditor.

Whom all obey,—

Maker of man ! who from thy height
Badest the dull earth bring to light
All creeping things, and the fierce might

Of beasts of prey ;—

And the huge make
Of wild or gentler animal,
Springing from nothing at Thy caH,
To serve in their due time, and all

For sinners' sake;

Shield us from ill!
Come it by passion's sudden stress,
Lurk in our minds' habitual dress,
Or through our actions seek to press

Upon our will.

Vouchsafe the prize
Of sacred joy's perpetual mood,
And service-seeking gratitude,
And love to quell each strife or feud,

If it arise.

Grant it, O Lord! To whom, the Father, Only Son, And Holy Spirit, Three in One, In heaven and earth all praise be done,

With one accord.

SATURDAY.

Jam sol recedit igneus.

The red sun is gone,

Thou Light of the heart,
Blessed Three, Holy One,
To Thy servants a sun

Everlasting impart.

There were Lauds in the morn,

Here are Vespers at even;

Oh, may we adorn

Thy temple new born

With our voices in Heaven.

To the Father be praise,

And praise to the Son

And the Spirit always,

While the infinite days
Of eternity run.

COMPLINE.
Te lucis ante terminum.

Now that the day-light dies away,

By all Thy grace and love,
Thee, Maker of the world, we pray

To watch our bed above.

Let dreams depart and phantoms fly,

The offspring of the night, Keep us, like shrines, beneath Thine eye,

Pure in our foe's despite.

This grace on Thy redeem'd confer,

Father, Co-equal Son,
And Holy Ghost, the Comforter,

Eternal Three in One.

ADVENT—VESPERS.
Creator alme siderum.

Creator of the starry pole,

Saviour of all who live,
And light of every faithful soul,

Jesu, these prayers receive.

Who sooner than our foe malign

Should triumph, from above Didst come, to be the medicine

Of a sick world, in love;

And the deep wounds to cleanse and cure

Of a whole race, didst go, Pure Victim, from a Virgin pure,

The bitter Cross unto.

Who hast a Name, and hast a Power,

The height and depth to sway, And Angels bow, and devils cower,

In transport or dismay;

Thou too shalt be our Judge at length;

Lord, in Thy grace bestow
Thy weapons of celestial strength,

And snatch us from the foe.

Honor and glory, power and praise,

To Father, and to Son,
And Holy Ghost, be paid always,

The Eternal Three in One.

ADVENT—MATINS.
Verbum supernum prodiens.

Supernal Word, proceeding from
The Eternal Father's breast,

And in the end of ages come,
To aid a world distrest;

Enlighten, Lord, and set on fire
Our spirits with Thy love,

That, dead to earth, they may aspire
And live to joys above.

That, when the judgment-seat on high

Shall fix the sinner's doom, And to the just a glad voice cry,

Come to your destined home;

Safe from the black and yawning lake

Of restless, endless pain,
We may the face of God partake,

The bliss of heaven attain.

To God the Father, God the Son,

And Holy Ghost, to Thee,
As heretofore, when time is done,

Unending glory be.

ADVENT—LAUDS.
En clara vox redarguit.

Hark, a joyful voice is thrilling,
And each dim and winding way

Of the ancient Temple filling;
Dreams, depart! for it is day.

Christ is coming !—from thy bed,

Earth-bound soul, awake and spring,—

With the sun new-risen to shed
Health on human suffering.

Lo I to grant a pardon free,

Comes a willing Lamb from Heaven; Sad and tearful, hasten we,

One and all, to be forgiven.

Once again He comes in light,
Girding earth with fear and woe;

Lord ! be Thou our loving Might,
From our guilt and ghostly foe.

To the Father, and the Son,
And the Spirit, who in Heaven

Ever witness, Three and One,
Praise on earth be ever given.

THE TRANSFIGURATION—MATINS. IT,, THE TRANSFIGURATION-MATINS.

Quicunque Christum quseritis.

O Ye who seek the Lord,

Lift up your eyes on high,
For there He doth the Sign accord

Of His bright majesty.

We see a dazzling sight

That shall outlive all time, Older than depth or starry height,

Limitless and sublime.

'Tis He for Israel's fold

And heathen tribes decreed,
The King to Abraham pledged of old

And his unfailing seed.

Prophets foretold His birth,
And witness'd when He came,

The Father speaks to all the earth
To hear, and own His name.

174 THE TRANSFIGURATION—LAUDS.

To Jesus, who displays

To babes His beaming face,

Be, with the Father, endless praise, And with the Spirit of grace. Amen.

THE TRANSFIGURATION—LAUDS. Lux alma Jesu.

Light of the anxious heart,

Jesu, Thou dost appear,
To bid the gloom of guilt depart,

And shed Thy sweetness here.

Joyous is he, with whom,
God's Word, Thou dost abide;

Sweet Light of our eternal home,
To fleshly sense denied.

Brightness of God above I

Unfathomable grace!
Thy Presence be a fount of love

Within Thy chosen place.

To Thee, whom children see,

The Father ever blest,
The Holy Spirit, One and Three,

Be endless praise addressed. Amen.

FOR A MARTYR.
Deus tuorum militum.

O God, of Thy soldiers

the Portion and Crown, Spare Thy people, who hymn

the praise of the Blest; Earth's bitter joys,

its lures and its frown, He scann'd them and scorn'd,

and so is at rest.

Thy Martyr he ran

all valiantly o'er A highway of blood

for the prize Thou hast given. We kneel at Thy feet,

and meekly implore, That our pardon may wait

on his triumph in heaven.

Honor and praise
To the Father and Son
And the Spirit be done

Now and always. Amen.

ETHELWALD.

( From St. Bede's Metrical History of St. Cuthbert.)

Between two comrades dear,

Zealous and true as they,
Thou, prudent Ethelwald, didst bear

In that high home the sway.

A man, who ne'er, 'tis said,

Would of his graces tell,
Or with what arms he triumphed

Over the Dragon fell.

So down to us hath come

A memorable word,
Which in unguarded season from

His blessed lips was heard.

It chanced, that, as the Saint

.Drank in with faithful ear
Of Angel tones the whispers faint,

Thus spoke a brother dear:

"Oh, why so many a pause,

Thwarting thy words' full stream, Till her dark line Oblivion draws Across the broken theme?"

t

He answered: "Till thou seal To sounds of earth thine ear, Sweet friend, be sure thou ne'er shalt feel Angelic voices near."

But then the hermit blest

A sudden change came o'er; He shudders, sobs, and smites his breast, Is mute, then speaks once more:

"Oh by the Name Most High

What I have now let fall, Hush, till I lay me down to die And go the way of all!"

Thus did a Saint in fear

His gifts celestial hide; Thus did an Angel standing near Proclaim them far and wide. Littlemore. 1844.

CANDLEMAS.

(A Song.)

The Angel-lights of Christmas morn,

Which shot across the sky, Away they pass at Candlemas,

They sparkle and they die.

Comfort of earth is brief at best.

Although it be divine;
Like funeral lights for Christmas gone,

Old Simeon's tapers shine.

And then for eight long weeks and more,

We wait in twilight grey,
Till the high candle sheds a beam

On Holy Saturday.

We wait along the penance-tide

Of solemn fast and prayer; While song is hush'd, and lights grow dim

In the sin-laden air.

And while the sword in Mary's soul

Is driven home, we hide In our own hearts, and count the wounds

Of passion and of pride.

And still, though Candlemas be spent

And Alleluias o'er,
Mary is music in our need,

And Jesus light in store.

The Oratory. 1849.

GUARDIAN ANGEL.

My oldest friend, mine from the hour
When first I drew my breath;

My faithful friend, that shall be mine,
Unfailing, till my death;

Thou hast been ever at my side;

My Maker to thy trust
Consign'd my soul, what time He framed

The infant child of dust.

No beating heart in holy prayer,

No faith, inform'd aright, Gave me to Joseph's tutelage,

Or Michael's conquering might .

Nor patron Saint, nor Mary's love,

The dearest and the best, Has known my being, as thou hast known,

And blest, as thou hast blest.

Thou wast my sponsor at the font;

And thou, each budding year, Didst whisper elements of truth

Into my childish ear.

And when, ere boyhood yet was gone,

My rebel spirit fell,
Ah ! thou didst see, and shudder too,

Yet bear each deed of Hell.

And then in turn, when judgments came,

And scared me hack again,
Thy quick soft breath was near to soothe

And hallow every pain.
* * * *

And thou wilt hang about my bed,

When life is ebbing low;
Of doubt, impatience, and of gloom,
The jealous, sleepless foe.

Mine, when I stand before the Judge;

And mine, if spared to stay Within the golden furnace, till

My sin is burn'd away.

And mine, O Brother of my soul,
When my release shall come;

Thy gentle arms shall lift me then,
Thy wings shall waft me home.

The Oratory. 1853.

A MARTYR CONVERT.

(A Hymn.)

The number of Thine own complete,

Sum up and make an end; Sift clean the chaff, and house the wheat;

And then, O Lord, descend.

Descend, and solve by that descent

This mystery of life;
Where good and ill, together blent,

Wage an undying strife.

For rivers twain are gushing still,

And pour a mingled flood; Good in the very depths of ill,

1ll in the heart of good.

The last are first, the first are last,

As angel eyes behold;
These from the sheep-cote sternly cast,

Those welcomed to the fold.

No Christian home, no pastor's eye,

No preacher's vocal zeal, Moved Thy dear Martyr to defy

The prison and the wheel.

Forth from the heathen ranks she stept,

The forfeit crown to claim
Of Christian souls who had not kept

Their birthright and their name.

Grace form'd her out of sinful dust;

She knelt a soul defiled,
She rose in all the faith, and trust,

And sweetness of a child.

And in the freshness of that love
She preach'd, by word and deed,

The mysteries of the world above,
Her new-found, glorious creed.

And running, in a little hour,

Of life the course complete, She reach'd the Throne of endless power,

And sits at Jesu's feet.

Her spirit there, her body here,
Make one the earth and sky;

We use her name, we touch her bier,
We know her God is nigh.

Praise to the Father, as is meet,

Praise to the Only Son, Praise to the Holy Paraclete

While endless ages run. The Oratory. r856.

THE TWO WORLDS.

Unveil, O Lord, and on us shine

In glory and in grace;
This gaudy world grows pale before

The beauty of Thy face.

Till Thou art seen, it seems to be

A sort of fairy ground,
Where suns unsetting light the sky,

And flowers and fruits abound.

But when Thy keener, purer beam

Is pour'd upon our sight,
It loses all its power to charm, -'

And what was day is night .

Its noblest toils are then the scourge
Which made Thy blood to flow;

Its joys are but the treacherous thorns
Which circled round Thy brow.

And thus, when we renounce for Thee

Its restless aims and fears,
The tender memories of the past,

The hopes of coming years,

Poor is our sacrifice, whose eyes

Are lighted from above;
We offer what we cannot keep,

What we have ceased to love.

The Oratory. j862.

ST. MICHAEL.
(A Hymn.}

Thou champion high
Of Heaven's imperial Bride,
For ever waiting on her eye,
Before her onward path, and at her side,
In war her guard secure, by night her ready
guide!

To thee was given, When those false angels rose Against the Majesty of Heaven, To hurl them down the steep, and on them

close

The prison where they roam in helpless unrepose.

Thee, Michael, thee,
When sight and breathing fail,
The disembodied soul shall see;

The pardon'd soul with solemn joy shall

hail,

When holiest rites are spent, and tears no more avail.

And thou, at last, When Time itself must die, Shalt sound that dread and piercing blast, To wake the dead, and rend the vaulted sky, And summon all to meet the Omniscient Judge on high.

Tlu Oratory. 1862.

THE DREAM OF GERONTIUS.

II.

Gerontius.

Jesu, Maria—I am near to death,
And Thou art calling me ; I know it now.
Not by the token of this faltering breath,
This chill at heart, this dampness on my
brow,—

'Tis this new feeling, never felt before,
(Be with me, Lord, in my extremity !)
That I am going, that I am no. more.
'Tis this strange innermost abandonment,
(Lover of souls ! great God ! I look to Thee,)
This emptying out of each constituent
And natural force, by which I come to be.
Pray for me, O my friends; a visitant
Is knocking his dire summons at my door,
The like of whom, to scare me and to daunt,
Has never, never come to me before;
'Tis death,—O loving friends, your prayers!

—'tis he ! ...

As though my very being had given way,
As though I was no more a substance now,
And could fall back on nought to be my stay,
(Help, loving Lord! Thou my sole Refuge,

Thou,)

And turn no whither, but must needs decay
And drop from out the universal frame
Into that shapeless, scopeless, blank abyss,
That utter nothingness, of which I came:
This is it that has come to pass in me;

Oh, horror! this it is, my dearest, this; So pray for me, my friends, who have not strength to pray.

Assistants.

Kyrie elelson, Christe eleison, Kyrie eleison. *****

Gerontius.

Rouse thee, my fainting soul, and play the man;

And through such waning span
Of life and thought as still has to be trod,

Prepare to meet thy God.
And while the storm of that bewilderment

Is for a season spent,
And, ere afresh the ruin on me fell,

Use well the interval.

Assistants.

Be merciful, be gracious; spare him, Lord.
Be merciful, be gracious ; Lord, deliver him.
From the sins that are past;
From Thy frown and Thine ire;

From the perils of dying;

From any complying

With sin, or denying

His God, or relying
On self, at the last;

From the nethermost fire;
From all that is evil;
From power of the devil;
Thy servant deliver,
For once and for ever.

By Thy birth, and by Thy Cross,

Rescue him from endless loss:

By Thy death and burial,

Save him from a final fall;

By Thy rising from the tomb,
By Thy mounting up above,
By the Spirit's gracious love,

Save him in the day of doom.

Gerontius.

Sanctus fortis, Sanctus Deus,

De profundis oro te, Miserere, Judex meus,

Parce mihi, Domine.

Firmly I believe and truly

God is Three, and God is One; And I next acknowledge duly

Manhood taken by the Son. And I trust and hope most fully

In that manhood crucified; And each thought and deed unruly

Do to death, as He has died. Simply to His grace and wholly

Light and life and strength belong, And I love, supremely, solely,

Him the holy, Him the strong. Sanctus fortis, Sanctus Deus,

De profundis oro te, Miserere, Judex meus,

Parce mihi, Domine. And I hold in veneration,

For the love of Him alone, Holy Church, as His creation,

And her teachings, as His own. And I take with joy whatever

Now besets me, pain or fear, And with a strong will I sever

All the ties which bind me here.

Adoration aye be given,

With and through the angelic host, To the God of earth and heavSn,

Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Sanctus fortis, Sanctus Dens,

De profundis oro te, Miserere, Judex meus,

Mortis in discrimine.

I can no more ; for now it comes again,

That sense of ruin, which is worse than pain,

That masterful negation and collapse

Of all that makes me man; as though I bent

Over the dizzy brink

Of some sheer infinite descent;

Or worse, as though

Down, down for ever I was falling through

The solid framework of created things,

And needs must sink and sink

Into the vast abyss. And, crueller still,

A fierce and restless fright begins to fill

The mansion of my soul. And, worse and

worse, Some bodily form of ill Floats on the wind, with many a loathsome

curse Tainting the hallow'd air, and laughs, and

flaps

Its hideous wings,
And makes me wild with horror and dismay.

*****

Assistants.

Rescue him, O Lord, in this his evil hour,

As of old so many by Thy gracious power :— (Amen.)

Enoch and Elias from the common doom; (Amen.)

Noe from the waters in a saving home; (Amen.)

Abraham fi om th' abounding guilt of Heathenesse; (Amen.)

Job from all his multiform and fell distress; (Amen.)

Issac, when his father's knife was raised to slay; (Amen.)

Lot from burning Sodom on its judgmentday; (Amen.)

Moses from the land of bondage and despair; (Amen )

Daniel from the hungry lions in their lair; (Amen.)

And the Children Three amid the furnaceflame; (Amen.)

Chaste Susanna from the slander and the shame; (Amen.1)

David from Golia and the wrath of Saul; (Amen.)

And the two Apostles from their prison-thrall; (Amen.)

Thecla from her torments; (Amen.)

—so to show Thy power,

Rescue this Thy servant in his evil hour.

Gerontius.

Novissima hora est ; and I fain would sleep. The pain has wearied me. . . . Into Thy

hands, O Lord, into Thy hands ....

The Priest.

Proficiscere, anima Christiana, de hoc mundo! Go forth upon thy journey, Christian soul!

Go from this world! Go, in the Name of

God

The Omnipotent Father, who created thee!
Go, in the Name of Jesus Christ, our Lord,
Son of the living God, who bled for thee!
Go, in the Name of the Holy Spirit, who
Hath been pour'd out on thee! Go, in the

name

Of Angels and Archangels ; in the name
Of Thrones and Dominations; in the name
OfPrincedoms and of Powers; and in the name
Of Cherubim and Seraphim, go forth!
Go, in the name of Patriarchs and Prophets;
And of Apostles and Evangelists,
Of Martyrs and Confessors; in the name
Of holy Monks and Hermits ; in the name
Of holy Virgins ; and all Saints of God,
Both men and women, go! Go on thy

course;

And may thy place to-day be found in peace, And may thy dwelling be the Holy Mount Of Zion :—through the Name of Christ, our Lord.

§ 2.
Soul Of Gerontius.

I went to sleep; and now I am refresh'd,
A strange refreshment: for I feel in me x
An inexpressive lightness, and a sense
Of freedom, as I were at length myself.
And ne'er had been before. How still it is I
I hear no more the busy beat of time,
No, nor my fluttering breath, nor struggling

pulse;

Nor does one moment differ from the next. I had a dream; yes :—some one softly said '' He's gone ; " and then a sigh went round

the room.

And then I surely heard a priestly voice
Cry "Subvenite ;" and they knelt in prayer.
I seem to hear him still; but thin and low,
And fainter and more faint the accents come,
As at an ever-widening interval.
Ah! whence is this? What is this sever-
ance?

This silence pours a solitariness
Into the very essence of my soul;

And the deep rest, so soothing and so sweet, Hath something too of sternness and of pain. For it drives back my thoughts upon their

spring

By a strange introversion, and perforce
I now begin to feed upon myself.
Because I have nought else to feed upon.

Am I alive or dead? I am not dead,

But in the body still; for I possess

A sort of confidence which clings to me,

That each particular organ holds its place

As heretofore, combining with the rest

Into one symmetry, that wraps me round,

And makes me man; and surely I could move,

Did 1 but will it, every part of me.

And yet I cannot to my sense bring home

By very trial, that I have the power.

Tis strange ; I cannot stir a hand or foot,

I cannot make my fingers or my lips

By mutual pressure witness each to each,

Nor by the eyelid's instantaneous stroke

Assure myself] have a body still.

Nor do I know my very attitude,

Nor if I stand, or lie, or sit, or kneel.

So much I know, not knowing how I know,
That the vast universe, where I have dwelt,
Is quitting me, or I am quitting it.
Or I or it is rushing on the wings
Of light or lightning on an onward course,
And we e'en now are million miles apart,
Yet ... is this peremptory severance
Wrought out in lengthening measurements of

space,

Which grow and multiply by speed and time?
Or am I traversing infinity
By endless subdivision, hurrying back
From finite towards infinitesimal,
Thus dying out of the expansive world?

Another marvel : some one has me fast
Wuhin his ample palm; 'tis not a grasp
Such as they use on earth, but all around
Over the surface of my subtle being,
As though I were a sphere, and capable
To be accosted thus, a uniform
And gentle pressure tells me I am not
Self-moving, but borne forward on my way.
And hark ! I hear a singing ; yet in sooth
I cannot of that music rightly say

Whether I hear, or touch, or taste the tones Oh, what a heart-subduing melody!

Angel.

My work is done,
My task is o'er,

And so I come,

Taking it home,
For the crown is won,

Alleluia,
For evermore.

My Father gave
In charge to me
This child of earth
E'en from its birth,

To serve and save,
Alleluia,

And saved is he.

This child of clay
To me was given,
To rear and train
By sorrow and pain

In the narrow way,

Alleluia, .
From earth to heaven.

Soui.

It is a member of that family

Of wondrous beings, who, ere the worlds

were made,

Millions of ages back, have stood around The throne of God :—-he never has known

sin;

But through those cycles all but infinite,
Has had a strong and pure celestial life,
And bore to gaze on the unveil'd face of God,
And drank from the everlasting Fount of

truth,

And served Him with a keen ecstatic love.
Hark ! he begins again.

Angel.

O Lord, how wonderful in depth and height, But most in man, how wonderful Thou art! With what a love, what soft persuasive might Victorious o'er the stubborn fleshly heart,

Thy tale complete of saints Thou dost provide,

To fill the throne which angels lost through pride!

He lay a grovelling babe upon the ground,
Polluted in the blood of his first sire,
With his whole essence shatter'd and un-
sound,

And coil'd around his heart a demon dire,
Which was not of his nature, but had skill
To bind and form his op'ning mind to ill.

Then was I sent from heaven to set right
The balance in his soul of truth and sin,

And I have waged a long relentless fight,
Resolved that death-environ'd spirit to win,

Which from its fallen state, when all was lost,

Had been repurchased at so dread a cost.

Oh, what a shifting parti-color'd scene

Of hope and fear, of triumph and dismay,

Of recklessness and penitence, has been The history of that dreary, life-long fray!

And oh, the grace to nerve him and to lead,

How patient, prompt, and lavish at his need! O man, strange composite 01 neaven and

earth!

Majesty dwarf d to baseness! fragrant flowei Running to poisonous seed! and seeming

worth Cloking corruption! weakness mastering

power!

Who never art so near to crime and shame, As when thou hast achieved some deed of

name ;—•

How should ethereal natures comprehend

A. thing made up of spirit and of clay, Were we not task'd to nurse it and to tend, Link'd one to one throughout its mortal

day?

More than the Seraph in his height of place, The Angel-guardian knows and loves the ransom'd race.

Soul.

Now know I surely that I am at length
Out of the body; had I part with earth,
I never could have drunk those accents in,
And not have worshipp'd as a god the voice

That was so musical; but now I am

So whole of heart, so calm, so self-possess'd,

With such a full content, and with a sense

So apprehensive and discriminant,

As no temptation can intoxicate.

Nor have 1 even terror at the thought

That I am clasp'd by such a saintliness.

Angel. All praise to Him, at whose sublime decree

The last are first, the first become the last; By whom the suppliant prisoner is set free, By whom proud first-borns from their thrones are cast.

§ 3Soul.

I will address him. Mighty one, my Lord, My Guardian Spirit, all hail!

Angel.

All hail, my child!

My child and brother, hail! what wouldest thou?

Soul.

I would have nothing but to speak with thee For speaking's sake. I wish to hold with thee Conscious communion; though I fain would

know

A maze of things, were it but meet to ask,
And not a curiousness.

Angel.

You cannot now Cherish a wish which ought not to be wish'd.

Soul.

Then I will speak. I ever had believed
That on the moment when the struggling soul
Quitted its mortal case, forthwith it fell
Under the awful Presence of its God,
There to be judged and sent to its own place.
What lets me now from going to my Lord?

Angel.

Thou art not let; but with extremes! speed Art hurrying to the Just and Holy Judge:

For scarcely art thou disembodied yet.
Divide a moment, as men measure time,
Into its million-million-millionth part,
Yet even less than that the interval
Since thou didst leave the body ; and the priest
Cried "Subvenite," and they fell to prayer;
Nay, scarcely yet have they begun to pray.

For spirits and men by different standards mete
The less and greater in the flow of time.
By sun and moon, primeval ordinances—
By stars which rise and set harmoniously—
By the recurring seasons, and the swing,
This way and that, of the suspended rod
Precise and punctual, men divide the hours,
Equal, continuous, for their common use.

Not so with us in the immaterial world;
But intervals in their succession
Are measured by the living thought alone
And grow or wane with its intensity.
And time is not a common property;
But what is long is short, and swift is slow,
And near is distant, as received and grasp'd
By this mind and by that, and every one

Is standard of his own chronology.

And memory lacks its natural resting-points

Of years, and centuries, and periods.

It is thy very energy of thought

Which keeps thee from thy God.

Soul.

Dear Angel, say,

Why have I now no fear at meeting Him?
Along my earthly life, the thought of death
And judgment was to me most terrible.
I had it aye before me, and I saw
The Judge severe e'en in the Crucifix.
Now that the hour is come, my fear is fled;
And at this balance of my destiny,
Now close upon me, I can forward look
With a serenest joy.

Angel.

It is because Then thou didst fear, that now thou dost not

fear,

Thou hast forestall'd the agony, and so
For thee the bitterness of death is past.

Also, because already in thy soul

The judgment is begun. That day of doom,

One and the same for the collected world—

That solemn consummation for all flesh,

Is, in the case of each, anticipate

Upon his death; and, as the last great day

In the particular judgment is rehearsed,

So now, too, ere thou comest to the Throne,

A presage falls upon thee, as a ray

Straight from the Judge, expressive of thy lot.

That calm and joy uprising in thy soul

Is first-fruit to thee of thy recompense,

And heaven begun.

§4. Soul.

But hark ! upon my sense Comes a fierce hubbub, which would make

me fear, Could I be frighted.

Angel.

We are now arrived

Close on the judgment-court; that sullen howl Is from the demons who assemble there.

It is the middle region, where of old
Satan appeared among the sons of God,
To cast his jibes and scoffs at holy Job.
So now his legions throng the vestibule,
Hungry and wild, to claim their property,
And gather souls for hell. Hist to their cry.

Soul.
How sour and how uncouth a dissonance!

Demons.

lx>w-born clods
Of brute earth,
They aspire
To become gods,
By a new birth,
And an extra grace,
And a score of merits,

As if aught
Could stand in place

Of the high thought,
And the glance of fire
Of the great spirits,
The powers blest,

The lords by right,
The primal owners,
Of the proud dwelling
And realm of light,—
Dispossess'd,
Aside thrust,

Chuck'd down
By the sheer might
Of a despot's will,

Of a tyrant's frown,
Who after expelling
Their hosts, gave,
Triumphant still,
And still unjust,

Each forfeit crown
To psalm-droners,
And canting groaners,

To every slave,
And pious cheat,

And crawling knave,
Who lick'd the dust
Under his feet.

H

Angel.

It is the restless panting of their being;
Like beasts of prey, who, caged within their

bars,

In a deep hideous purring have their life,
And an incessant pacing to and fro.

* * * *

Soul.

How impotent they are! and yet on earth They have repute for wondrous power and

skill;

And books describe, how that the very face Of the Evil One, if seen, would have a force Even to freeze the blood, and choke the life Of him who saw it .

Angel.

In thy trial-state

Thou hadst a traitor nestling close at home,
Connatural, who with the powers of hell
Was leagued, and of Thy senses kept the keys,
And to that deadliest foe unlock'd thy heart.
And therefore is it, in respect of man,

Those fallen ones show so majestical.

But, when some child of grace, Angel or Saint,

Pure and upright in his integrity

Of nature, meets the demons on their raid,

They scud away as cowards from the fight.

Nay, oft hath holy hermit in his cell,

Not yet disburden'd of mortality,

Mock'd at their threats and warlike overtures;

Or, dying, when they swarm'd like flies,

around, Defied them, and departed to his Judge.

Demons.

Virtue and vice,

A knave's pretence,
'Tis all the same;
Ha I ha!

Dread of hell-fire,
Of the venomous flame,
A coward's plea.
Give him his price,

Saint though he be,
Ha ! ha! .

From shrewd good sense

He'll slave for hire;
Ha ! ha!

And does but aspire
To the heaven above

With sordid aim,
And not from love.

Ha ! ha l

Soul.

I see not those false spirits; shall I see
My dearest Master, when I reach His throne?
Or hear, at least, His awful judgment-word
With personal intonation, as I now
Hear thee, not see thee, Angel? Hitherto
All has been darkness since I left the earth;
Shall I remain thus sight-bereft all through
My penance-time? If so, how comes it then
That I am hearing still, and taste, and touch,
Yet not a glimmer of that princely sense
Which binds ideas in one, and makes them
live?

Angel.

Nor touch, nor taste, nor hearing hast thou

now;

Thou livest in a world of signs and types,
The presentations of most holy truths,
Living and strong, which now encompass thee.
A disembodied soul, thou hast by right
No converse with aught beside thyself;
But, lest so stern a solitude should load
And break thy being, in mercy are vouchsafed
Some lower measures of perception,
Which seem to thee, as though through chan-
nels brought,
Through ear, or nerves, or palate, which are

gone. And thou art wrapp'd and swathed around in

. dreams,

Dreams that are true, yet enigmatical;
For the belongings of thy present state,
Save through such symbols, come not home

to thee. And thus thou tell'st of space, and time, and

size, Of fragrant, solid, bitter, musical,

Of fire, and of refreshment after fire •
As (let me use similitude of earth,
To aid thee in the knowledge thou dost ask),
As ice which blisters may be said to burn.
Nor hast thou now extension, with its parts
Correlative,—long habit cozens thee,—
Nor power to move thyself, nor limbs to move.
Hast thou not heard of those, who after loss
Of hand or foot, still cried that they had

pains

In hand or foot, as though they had it still?
So is it now with thee, who hast not lost
Thy hand or foot, but all which made up

man.

So will it be, until the joyous day
Of resurrection, when thou wilt regain
All thou hast lost, new-made and glorified.
How, even now, the consummated Saints
See God in heaven, I may not explicate;
Meanwhile, let it suffice thee to possess
Such means of converse as are granted thee,
Though, till that Beatific Vision, thou art

blind.

Soul. ,

His will be done!
I am not worthy ere to see again
The face of day; far less His countenance.
Who is the very sun. ******

Angel.

Yes,—for one moment thou shalt see thy

Lord.

Thus will it be: what time thou art arraign'd
Before the dread tribunal, and thy lot
Is cast for ever, should it be to sit
On His right hand among His pure elect,
Then sight, or that which to the soul is sight,
As by a lightning-flash, will come to thee,
And thou shalt see, amid the dark profound,
Whom thy soul loveth and would fain ap-
proach,—
One moment; but thou knowest not, my

child, What thou dost ask; that sight of the Most

Fair Will gladden thee, but it will pierce thee too. Soul.

Thcu speakest darkly, Angel ; and an awe
Falls on me, and a fear lest I be rash.

Angel.

There was a mortal, who is now above
In the mid glory: he, when near to die,
Was given communion with the Crucified,—
Such, that the Master's very wounds were

stamp'd

Upon his flesh; and, from the agony
Which thrill'd through body and soul in that

embrace,

Learn that the flame of the Everlasting Love Doth burn ere it transform. ...

§ 5

. . . Hark to those sounds! They come of tender beings angelical, Least and most childlike of the sons of God. First Choir Of Angelicals.

Praise to the Holiest in the height,

And in the depth be praise;
In all His words most wonderful;

Most sure in all His ways!

To us His elder race He gave

To battle and to win,
Without the chastisement of pain,

Without the soil of sin. «

The younger son He will'd to be

A marvel in His birth:
Spirit and flesh his parents were;

His home was heaven and earth.

The Eternal bless'd His child, and arm'd

And sent him hence afar,
To serve as champion in the field

Of elemental war.

To be His Viceroy in the world

Of matter, and of sense;
Upon the frontier, towards the foe

A resolute defence.

Angel.

We now have pass'd the gate, and are within The House of Judgment; and whereas on

earth

Temples and palaces are form'd of parts
Costly and rare, but all material,
So in the world of spirits nought is found,
To mould withal, and form into a whole,
But what is immaterial; and thus
The smallest portions of this edifice,
Cornice, or frieze, or balustrade, or stair—
The very pavement is made up of life—
Of holy, blessed, and immortal beings,
Who hymn their Maker's praise continually.

Second Choir Of Angelicals.

Praise to the Holiest in the height,

And in the depth be praise:
In all His words most wonderful;

Most sure in all His ways!

Woe to thee, man ! for he was found

A recreant in the fight;
And lost his heritage of heaven,

And fellowship with light.

Above him now the angry sky,

Around the tempest's din;
Who once had Angels for his friends,

Had but the brutes for kin.

O man ! a savage kindred they;

To flee that monster brood
He scaled the seaside cave and clomb

The giants of the wood.

With now a fear, and now a hope,
With aids which chance supplied,

From youth to eld, from sire to son,
He lived, and toil'd, and died.

He dreed his penance age by age,

And step by step began Slowly to doff his savage garb,

And be again a man.

And quicken'd by the Almighty's breath,

And chasten'd by His rod, And taught by angel-visitings,

At length he sought his God;

And learn'd to call upon His Name

And in His faith create
A household and a father-land

A city and a state.

Glory to Him who from the mire,

In patient length of days, Elaborated into life

A people to His praise!

Soul.

The sound is like the rushing of the wind— The summer wind—among the lofty pines; Swelling and dying, echoing round about, Now here, now distant, wild and beautiful; While, scatter'd from the branches it has

stirred, Descend ecstatic odors.

Third Choiu or Angelicals.

Praise to The Holiest in the height,

And in the depth be praise:
In all His words most wonderful;

Most sure in all His ways!

The Angels, as beseemingly

To spirit-kind was given,
At once were tried and perfected,

And took their seats in heaven.

For them no twilight or eclipse;

No growth and no decay:
'Twas hopeless, all-ingulfing night/

Or beatific day.

But to the younger race there rose

A hope upon its fall;
And slowly, surely, gracefully,

The morning dawn'd on all.

And ages, opening out, divide

The precious, and the base,
And from the hard and sullen mass

Mature the heirs of grace.

O man ! albeit the quickening ray,

Lit from his second birth, Makes him at length what once he was,

And heaven grows out of earth;

Yet still between that earth and heaven—

His journey and his goal— A double agony awaits

His body and his soul.

A double debt he has to pay

The forfeit of his sins:
The chill of death is past, and now

The penance-fire begins.

Glory to Him, who evermore

By truth and justice reigns;
Who tears the soul from out its case,

And burns away its stains!

Angel.

They sing of thy approaching agony,
Which thou so eagerly didst question of:
It is the face of the Incarnate God
Shall smite thee with that keen and subtle
pain;

And yet the memory which it leaves will be
A sovereign febrifuge to heal the wound;
And yet withal it will the wound provoke,
And aggravate and widen it the more.

Soul.

Thou speakest mysteries; still methinks I

know

To disengage the tangle of thy words:
Yet rather would I hear thy angel voice,
Than for myself be thy interpreter.

Angel.

When then—if such thy lot—thou seest thy

Judge,

The sight of Him will kindle in thy heart
All tender, gracious, reverential thoughts.
Thou wilt be sick with love, and yearn for

Him,

And feel as though thou couldst but pity Him, That one so sweet should e'er have placed

Himself

At disadvantage such, as*to be used
So vilely by a being so vile as thee.
There is a pleading in His pensive eyes
Will pierce thee to the quick, and trouble

thee. And thou wilt hate and loathe thyself; for,

though

Now sinless, thou wilt feel that thou hast

sinn'd,

As never thou didst feel; and wilt desire
To slink away, and hide thee from His sight:
And yet wilt have a longing aye to dwell
Within the beauty of His countenance.
And these two pains, so counter and so

keen,— The longing for Him, when thou seest Him

not;

The shame of self at thought of seeing Him,— Will be thy veriest, sharpest purgatory.

Soul.

My soul is in my hand: I have no fear,—
In His dear might prepared for weal or woe.
But hark ! a grand, mysterious harmony:
It floods me like the deep and solemn sound
Of many waters.

Angel.

We have gain'd the stairs Which rise towards the Presence-chamber; there

A band of mighty Angels keep the way

On either side, and hymn the Incarnate God

Angels Of The Sacred Stair.

Father, whose goodness none can know, but

they

Who see Thee face to face,
By man hath come the infinite display

Of thy victorious grace;
But fallen man—the creature of a day—

Skills not that love to trace.
It needs, to tell the triumph Thou hast

wrought,

An Angel's deathless fire, an Angel's reach of thought.

It needs that very Angel, who with awe

Amid the garden shade,
The great Creator in Ilis sickness saw,

Soothed by a creature's aid,
And agonized, as victim of the Law

Which He Himself had made. For who can praise Him in His depth and

height, But he who saw Him reel amid that solitary

fight?

Soul.

Hark ! for the lintels of the presence-gate
Are vibrating and echoing back the strain.

Fourth Choir Of Angelicals.

Praise to the Holiest in the height,

And in the depth be praise;
In all His words most wonderful;

Most sure in all His ways!

The foe blasphemed the Holy Lord,

As if He reckon'd ill,
In that He placed His puppet man

The frontier place to fill.

For, even in his best estate,

With amplest gifts endued, A sorry sentinel was he,

A beinq; of flesh and blood.

As though a thing, who for his help

Must needs possess a wife, Could cope with those proud rebel hosts

Who had angelic life.

And when, by blandishment of Eve,

That earth-born Adam fell, He shriek'd in triumph, and he cried,

'' A sorry sentinel;

"The Maker by His word is bound,

Escape or cure is none;
He must abandon to his doom,

And slay His darling Son."

Angel.

And now the threshold, as we traverse it Utters aloud its glad responsive chant.

Fifth Choir Of Angelicals.

Praise to the Holiest in the height,
And in the depth be praise:

In all His words most wonderful;
Most sure in all His ways!

O loving wisdom of our God!

When all was sin and shame, A second Adam to the fight

And to the rescue came.

O wisest love ! that flesh and blood

Which did in Adam fail, Should strive afresh against their foe,

Should strive and should prevail;

And that a higher gift than grace
Should flesh and blood refine,

God's Presence and His very Self,
And Essence all-divine.

O generous love ! that He who smote

In man for man the foe, The double agony in man

For man should undergo;

And in the garden secretly,
And on the cross on high,

Should teach His brethren and inspire
To suffer and to die.

§ 6.

Angel.

Thy judgment now is near, for we are come
Into the veile'd presence of our God.

Soul.
I hear the voices that I left on earth.

Angel.

It is the voice of friends around thy bed,
Who say the "Subvenite " with the priest.
Hither the echoes come; before the Throne
Stands the great Angel of Agony,
The same who strengihen'd Him, what time

He knelt
Lone in that garden shade, bedew'd with

blood.

That Angel best can plead with Him for all Tormented souls, the dying and the dead.

Angel Of The Agony.

Jesu! by that shuddering dread which fell on

Thee; Jesu! by that cold dismay which sicken'd

Thee;

Jesu! by that pang of heart which thrill'd in

Thee; Jesu! by that mount of sins which crippled

Thee Jesu! by that sense of guilt which stifled

Thee;

Jesu ! by that innocence which girdled Thee; Jesu ! by that sanctity which reign'd in Thee; Jesu! by that Godhead which was one with

Thee; Jesu! spare these souls which are so dear to

Thee; Who in prison, calm and patient, wait for

Thee; Hasten, Lord, their hour, and bid them come

to Thee, To that glorious Home, where they shall ever

gaze on Thee.

Soul.
I go before my Judge. Ah! . . . .

Angel.

.... Praise to His Name! The eager spirit has darted from my hold, And, with intemperate energy of love,

Flies to the dear feet of Emmanuel;
But, ere it reach them, the keen sanctity,
Which with its effluence, like a glory, clothes
And circles round the Crucified, has seized,
And scorch'd, and shrivell'd; and now it lies
Passive and still before the awful Throne.
O happy, suffering soul! for it is safe, f
Consumed, yet quicken'd, by the glance of
God.

Soul.

Take me away, and in the lowest deep

There let me be,

And there in hope the lone night-watches keep,

Told out for me.
There, motionless and happy in my pain,

Lone, not forlorn, —
There will I sing my sad perpetual strain,

Until the morn.

There will I sing, and soothe my stricken breast,

Which ne'er can cease To throb, and pine, and languish, till possest

Of its Sole Peace.

There will I sing my absent Lord and Love:—

Take me away,

That sooner 1 may rise, and go above,
And see Him in the truth of everlasting day.

§ 7-
Angel.

Now let the golden prison ope its gates,
Making sweet music, as each fold revolves
Upon its ready hinge.

Souls In Prison.

1. Lord, Thou hast been our refuge ; in every

generation;

2. Before the hills were born, and the world

was; from age to age Thou art God.

3. Bring us not, Lord, very low; for Thou

hast said, Come back again, ye sons of Adam.

4. A thousand years before Thine eyes are but

as yesterday : and as a watch of the night which is come and gone.

5. The grass springs up in the morning: at

evening tide it shrivels up and dies.

6. So we fail in Thine anger: and in Thy

wrath are we troubled.

7. Thou hast set our sins in Thy sight: and

our round of days in the light of Thy countenance.

8. Come back, O Lord! how long; and be

entreated for Thy servants.

9. In Thy morning we shall be filled with

Thy mercy: we shall rejoice and be in pleasure all our days.

10. We shall be glad according to the days

of our humiliation : and the years in which we have seen evil.

11. Look, O Lord, upon Thy servants and on Thy work : and direct their children.

12. And let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us : and the work of our hands, establish Thou it.

Glory be to the Father, and to the Son: and

to the Holy Ghost. As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever

shall b3 : world without end. Amen.

* * . * * *

Tfif Oratory. January, 1865.