All love and glory be to Thee, AT THE MATTINS. I love them that love Me, and those that seek Me early shall find Me.-PROV. viii. "Maria sacro saucia vulnere." WHY for thy Lord dost thou thus weep and mourn, Like one half-broken-hearted and forlorn; No need for Him that thou shouldst mourn and weep, No need with tears an empty shroud to steep. He, whom thou seekest in the murky tomb, See wide the rocks ope the sepulchral door. Why bringst thou myrrh and spices, offerings meet For livid corpses in their winding sheet? Meet to return to His paternal sky. Thy tears proclaim the greatness of thy love, 'Tis thine own name! He speaks-thy God and Lord. Now go, first witness and first messenger, And teach the Twelve that Christ Himself is nigh, All love, and praise, and majesty be Thine, ST. PETER IN PRISON. AT THE VESPERS. I have made thee this day a defenced city, and an iron pillar, and brazen walls against the whole land, against the kings of Judah, against the princes thereof, against the priests thereof, and against the people of the land. And they shall fight against thee: but they shall not prevail against thee; for I am with thee, saith the Lord, to deliver thee.—JER. i. "Qui Christiano gloriantur nomine." No brazen fetters have the captive bound, Of sentry watching by the bolted cell; He in his chains hath truer freedom found. 'Mid purer heav'ns his unchain'd spirit doth stray, The ponderous iron is by love made light, And the clear ray Breaks in the prison-house of gloomy night Blest chains, that prove no guilty criminal, But one train'd in Christ's school, serenely bent More precious they than golden ornament, To Him all praise, all power, all majesty, All glory be to Christ the Crucified, AT THE MATTINS. Wisdom forsook not the righteous, but delivered him from sinners; she went down with him into the pit, and left him not in bonds.-WISDOM X. Petrum, tyranne, quid catenis obruis." WHERE the prison bars surround him, Where the sentinel hath bound him, Pacing by his gloomy cell? What shall avail Prison, chains, or sentinel? Lo, a light, from Heav'n descending, An Angel o'er the Saint is bending, Open is the massy bar. Where the heav'nly guide is leading, Through the portals dark and cold ; Doth the Almighty's hand behold. We in prison-chains are sleeping, Break Thou our chains, Highest praise to Thee, the Highest, Infinite, dread Trinity; Who, awhile our spirits tryest, Fitting them to dwell with Thee, Thee adoring, |