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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 ?
Nor of escaping hell ;
Not seeking a reward ;
O everlasting Lord !
And in thy praise will sing,
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 :
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 :
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,
Where sweetness dwells
And when our bottles and all we
Are subjects far too low for my desire ; Then the blest paths we 'll travel,
But dying sparkles of thy living fire ; Ceilings of diamonds, sapphire floors,
Where no corrupted voices brawl;
Wisdom but folly ; joy, disquiet - sadness ; No rged accuser, ught or sold
Who pleads for all without degrees,
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,
Thou giv'st salvation even for alms,
To Him that made heaven, earth, and sea,
And want a head to dine next noon,
Just at the stroke when my veins start and spread,
Set on my soul an everlasting head :
Then am I, like a palmer, fit
To tread those blest paths which before I writ.
Of death and judgment, heaven and hell,
A TRUE LENT.
Is this a fast, to keep
The larder lean,
From fat of veals and sheep?
Is it to quit the dish
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?
SIR WALTER RALEIGH
Then by that happy, blissful day,
Is it to fast an hour,
Or ragg'd to go,
“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.
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 !
Sooner, Augustine, sooner far, shall I
“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 ;
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
But a religious servant of my God;
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,
Made vocal by my song, and taught his praise.
To give us only good ; and if the night
Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark.
FROM "PARADISE LOST," BOOK V.
THESE are thy glorious works, Parent of good,
To write a verse or two is all the praise
That I can raise ; In these thy lowest works; yet these declare
Mend my estate in any wayes,
Thou shalt have more.
I go to church; help me to wings, and I
Will thither flie; Circle his throne rejoicing ; ye in Heaven,
Or, if I mount unto the skie,
I will do more.
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.
Yes, to the very end.
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.
Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?
Of labor you shall find the sum.
CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI.
In clothes, cheap handsomenesse doth bean the
Much curiousnesse a perpetual wooing;
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.
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.
By all means use sometimes to be alone.
Who cannot rest till he good fellows finde,
If I still hold closely to him,
What hath he at last ?