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And griefs and torments numberless,

And sweat of agony, Yea, death itself, - and all for one

That was thine eneruy.

Then why, O blessed Jesus Christ,

Should I not love thee well ?
Not for the hope of winuing heaven,

Nor of escaping hell ;
Not with the hope of gaining aught,

Not seeking a reward ;
But as thyself hast loved me,

O everlasting Lord !
E'en so I love thee, and will love,

And in thy praise will sing,
Solely because thou art my God,
And my eternal King.

From the Latin of ST FRANCIS XAVIER.

Translation of EDWARD CASWALL.

DELIGHT IN GOD. I love, and have some cause to love, the earth,

She is my Maker's creature, therefore good ; She is my mother, for she gave me birth ;

She is my tender nurse, she gives me food :
But what 's a creature, Lord, compared with

thee?
Or what 's my mother or my nurse to me?
I love the air, — her dainty sweets refresh
My drooping soul, and to new sweets invite

me ; Her shrill-mouthed choir sustain me with their

flesh, And with their polyphonian notes delight me : But what's the air, or all the sweets that she

Can bless my soul withal, compared to thee ? I love the sea, — she is my fellow-creature,

My careful purveyor ; she provides me store ; She walls me round; she makes my diet greater ;

She wafts my treasure from a foreign shore :
But, Lord of oceans, when compared with thee,
What is the ocean or her wealth to me?

DROP, DROP, SLOW TEARS.

Drop, drop, slow tears,

And bathe those beauteous feet Which brought from heaven

The news and Prince of peace ! Cease not, wet eyes,

His mercies to entreat ; To cry for vengeance

Sin doth never cease ;

To heaven's high city I direct ny journey,

Whose spangled suburbs entertain mine eye; Mine eye, by contemplation's great attorney,

Transcends the crystal pavement of the sky: But what is heaven, great God, compared to

thee? Without thy presence, heaven 's no heaven to

Without thy presence, earth gives no refection ; I'll take them first

Without thy presence, sea affords no treasure ; To quench their thirst,
Without thy presence, air 's a rank infection; And taste of nectar's suckets
Without thy presence, heaven 's itself no At those clear wells
pleasure :

Where sweetness dwells
If not possessed, if not enjoyed in thee, Drawn up by saints in crystal buckets.
What's earth, or sea, or air, or heaven to me?

And when our bottles and all we
The highest honors that the world can boast Are filled with immortality,

Are subjects far too low for my desire ; Then the blest paths we 'll travel,
The brightest beams of glory are, at most, Strewed with rubies thick as gravel,

But dying sparkles of thy living fire ; Ceilings of diamonds, sapphire floors,
The loudest flames that earth can kindle be High walls of coral, and pearly bowers.
But nightly glow-worms, if compared to thee. From thence to Heaven's bribeless hall,

Where no corrupted voices brawl;
Without thy presence, wealth is bags of cares ; No conscience molten into gold,

Wisdom but folly ; joy, disquiet - sadness ; No rged accuser, ught or sold
Friendship is treason, and delights are snares ; No cause deferred, no vain-spent journey,
Pleasures but pain, and mirth but pleasing For there Christ is the King's Attorney ;
Inadness;

Who pleads for all without degrees,
Without thee, Lord, things be not what they be, And he hath angels, but no fees ;
Nor have their being, when compared with And when the grand twelve-million jury
thee.

Of our sins, with direful fury,

'Gainst our souls black verdicts give, In having all things, and not thee, what have I? Christ pleads his death, and then we live. Not having thee, what have my labors got ?

Be thou my speaker, taintless pleader,
Let me enjoy but thee, what further crave I ? Unblotted lawyer, true proceeder !
And having thee alone, what have I not?

Thou giv'st salvation even for alms,
I wish nor sea nor land ; nor would I be Not with a bribèd lawyer's palms.
Possessed of heaven, heaven unpossessed of And this is mine eternal plea
thee !

To Him that made heaven, earth, and sea,
That, since my flesh must die so soon,

And want a head to dine next noon,
THE PILGRIMAGE.

Just at the stroke when my veins start and spread,

Set on my soul an everlasting head :
Give me my scallop-shell of quiet,

Then am I, like a palmer, fit
My staff of faith to walk upon,

To tread those blest paths which before I writ.
My scrip of joy, immortal diet,
My bottle of salvation,

Of death and judgment, heaven and hell,
My gown of glory, hope's true gauge ; Who oft doth think, must needs die well.
And thus I 'll take my pilgrimage !
Blood must be my body's balmer,
No other balm will there be given;

A TRUE LENT.
Whilst my soul, like quiet palmer,
Travelleth towards the land of Heaven,

Is this a fast, to keep
Over the silver mountains

The larder lean,
Where spring the nectar fountains :

And clean
There will I kiss

From fat of veals and sheep?
The bowl of bliss,
And drink mine everlasting fill

Is it to quit the dish
Upon every milken hill.

Of flesh, yet still My soul will be a-dry before,

To fill But after, it will thirst no more.

The platter high with fish?

FRANCIS QUARLES.

SIR WALTER RALEIGH

Then by that happy, blissful day,
More peaceful pilgrims I shall see,
That have cast off their rags of clay,
And walk apparelled fresh like me.

Is it to fast an hour,

Or ragg'd to go,

Or show
A downcast look, and sour ?

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BRIEFS.

O foolish boy!" the saint exclaimed, "to hope

That the broad ocean in that hole should lie!" WATER TURNED INTO WINE.

O foolish saint !” exclaimed the boy; "thy The conscious water saw its God and blushed.

scope

Is still more hopeless than the toil I ply, THE WIDOW'S MITES.

Who think'st to comprehend God's nature high

In the small compass of thine human wit !
Two mites, two drops, yet all her house and land,
Fall from a steady heart, though trembling hand : Confine the ocean in this tiny pit,

Sooner, Augustine, sooner far, shall I
The other's wanton wealth foams high, and brave ; Than finite minds conceive God's nature in.
The other cast away, she only gave.

finite !"

ANONYMOUS.

RICHARD CRASHAW.

“TWO WENT UP TO THE TEMPLE TO PRAY." Two went to pray ? O, rather say,

I WOULD I WERE AN EXCELLENT One went to brag, the other to pray ;

DIVINE.
One stands up close and treads on high, I would I were an excellent divine
Where the other dares not lend his eye ;

That had the Bible at my fingers' ends ;

That men might hear out of this mouth of mine One nearer to God's altar trod,

How God doth make his enemies his friends ; The other to the altar's God.

Rather than with a thundering and long prayer
Be led into presumption, or despair.
This would I be, and would none other be,

But a religious servant of my God;
A PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF ST. And know there is none other God but he,
AUGUSTINE.

And willingly to suffer mercy's rod,

Joy in his grace, and live but in his love, Long pored St. Austin o'er the sacred page,

And seek my bliss but in the world above. And doubt and darkness overspread his mind; On God's mysterious beivg thought the Sage, And I would frame a kind of faithful prayer,

The Triple Person in one Godhead joined. For all estates within the state of grace,

The more he thought, the harder did he find That careful love might never know despair, To solve the various doubts which fast arose ; Nor servile fear might faithful love deface ;

And as a ship, caught by imperious wind, And this would I both day and night devise Tosses where chance its shattered body throws, To make my humble spirit's exercise. So tossed his troubled soul, and nowhere found

And I would read the rules of sacred life i repose.

Persuade the troubled soul to patience ; Heated and feverislı, then he closed his tome, The husband care, and confort to the wife, And went to wander by the ocean-side,

To child and servant due obedience ; Where the cool breeze at evening loved to come, Faith to the friend, and to the neighbor peace,

Murmuring responsive to the murmuring tide ; | That love might live, and quarrels all might cease. Prayer for the health of all that are diseased, That singing up to Heaven-gate ascend,

Confession unto all that are convicted, Bear on your wings and in your notes his praise. And patience unto all that are displeased, Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk

And comfort unto all that are afflicted, The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep, And mercy unto all that have offended,

Witness if I be silent, morn or even,
And grace to all, that all may be amended. To hill or valley, fountain or fresh shade,

Made vocal by my song, and taught his praise.
Hail, universal Lord ! be bounteous still

To give us only good ; and if the night
ADAM'S MORNING HYMN IN PARADISE. Have gathered aught of evil, or concealed,

Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark.

NICHOLAS BRETON.

FROM "PARADISE LOST," BOOK V.

MILTON.

THESE are thy glorious works, Parent of good,
Almighty, thine this universal frame,

PRAISE
Thus wondrous fair; thyself how wondrous then!
Unspeakable, who sitt'st above these heavens

To write a verse or two is all the praise
To us invisible, or dimly seen

That I can raise ; In these thy lowest works; yet these declare

Mend my estate in any wayes,
Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine.

Thou shalt have more.
Speak, ye who best can tell, ye sons of light,
Angels ; for ye behold him, and with songs

I go to church; help me to wings, and I
And choral symphonies, day without night,

Will thither flie; Circle his throne rejoicing ; ye in Heaven,

Or, if I mount unto the skie,
On earth join, all ye creatures, to extol

I will do more.
Him first, him last, him midst, and without end.
Fairest of stars, last in the train of night,

Man is all weaknesse : there is no such thing If better thou belong not to the dawn,

As Prince or King : Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling morn

His arm is short ; yet with a sling With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere,

He may do more. While day arises, that sweet hour of prime. Thou sun, of this great world both eye and soul, A herb destilled, and drunk, may dwell next doore, Acknowledge him thy greater ; sound his praise

On the same floore, In thy eternal course, both when thou climb'st,

To a brave soul : Exalt the poore, And when high noon hast gained, and when thou

They can do more. fall'st. Moon, that now meets the orient sun, now fliest, 0, raise me then ! poore bees, that work all day, With the fixed stars, fixed in their orb that lies,

Sting my delay, And ye five other wandering fires that move

Who have a work, as well as they, In mystic dance not without song, resound

And much, much more.
His praise, wbo out of darkness called up light.
Air, and ye elements, the eldest birth
Of Nature's womb, that in quaternion run
Perpetual circle, multiform, and mix

UP HILL.
And nourish all things, let your ceaseless change
Vary to our great Maker still new praise. Does the road wind up hill all the way?
Ye mists and exhalations, that now rise

Yes, to the very end.
From hill or steaming lake, dusky or gray, Will the day's journey take the whole long day?
Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold, From morn to night, my friend.
In honor to the world's great Author rise,
Whether to deck with clouds the uncolored sky, But is there for the night a resting place ?
Or wet the thirsty earth with falling showers, A roof for when the slow dark hours begin.
Rising or falling, still advance his praise. May not the darkness hide it from my face?
His praise, ye winds, that from four quarters blow, You cannot miss that inn.
Breathe soft or loud ; and wave your tops, ye pines,
With every plant, in sign of worship wave. Shall I meet other wayfarers at night ?
Fountains, and ye that warble, as ye flow,

Those who have gone before. Melodious murmurs, warbling tune his praise. Then must I knock, or call when just in sight? Join voices, all ye living souls ; ye birds,

They will not keep you standing at that door.

GEORGE HERBERT.

Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?

Of labor you shall find the sum.
Will there be beds for me and all who seek ?
Yea, beds for all who come.

CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI.

In clothes, cheap handsomenesse doth bean the

bell.
Wisdome's a trimmer thing than shop e'er gave.
Say not then, This with that lace will do well;
But, This with my discretion will be brave.

Much curiousnesse a perpetual wooing;
Nothing, with labor ; folly, long a doing.

THE PILLAR OF THE CLOUD.

When once thy foot enters the church, be bare.

God is more there than thou; for thou art there LEAD, kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom, Only by his permission. Then beware, Lead thou me on !

And make thyself all reverence and fear. The night is dark, and I am far from home, –

Kneeling ne'er spoiled silk stockings ; quit Lead thou me on !

thy state ; Keep thou my feet ; I do not ask to see

All equal are within the church's gate. The distant scene, one step enough for me.

Resort to sermons, but to prayers most : I was not ever thus, nor prayed that thou Praying 's the end of preaching. O, be drest ! Shouldst lead me on :

Stay not for th' other pin : why thou hast lost I loved to choose and see my path, but now

A joy for it worth worlds. Thus hell doth jest Lead thou me on !

Away thy blessings, and extremely flout thee, I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears,

Thy clothes being fast, but thy soul loose Pride ruled my will : remember not past years.

about thee.

Judge not the preacher'; for he is thy judge : So long thy power hath blessed me, sure it still it thou mislike him, thou conceiv'st him not. Will lead me on ;

God calleth preaching folly. Do not grudge O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till

To pick out treasures from an eartheu pot. The night is gone ;

The worst speak something good : if a!! And with the morn those angel faces smile

want sense, Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile.

God takes a text, and preacheth Pa-ti-ence JOHN HENRY NEWMAN.

GEORGE HERBERT.

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By all means use sometimes to be alone.
Salute thyself: see what thy soul doth wear.
Dare to look in thy chest; for 't is thine own;
And tumble up and down what thou find'st there.

Who cannot rest till he good fellows finde,
He breaks up house, turns out of doores his

minde.

If I still hold closely to him,

What hath he at last ?
“Sorrow vanquished, labor ended,

Jordan passed."

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