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Lo! there 'tis thine still on to move
Thy nearer ken,

Where ear, and eye, and soul of men
Turn in mute awe, and shrink to prove
The mysteries of redeeming love.

For of that love how vast the sum!

That Deity

Forgetful of itself should be,

And down to earth an exile come,
To lead these wandering exiles home.

'Tis thine Heaven's deepest rites to tell To seers divining;

Thou op'st the light in darkness shining: Thou searchest life's o'er-flowing well, And heaven-born light's primæval cell.

All praise to God on high we sing,

To Father, Son,

And Holy Spirit, Three in One.

Lo! this the stedfast creed we bring

Drawn from high Heaven's eternal spring.

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AT THE VESPERS.

Jesus answered and said, Are ye able to drink of the cup that I shall drink of? They say unto him, We are able. And He saith unto them, Ye shall indeed drink of My cup.-ST. MATT. XX.

"Sit qui rite canat te modo virginem."

Он, for a saint like thee,

To sing thy virgin purity!

Sing thee Apostle, and unroll

Thy heaven-taught truth's far-beaming scroll,
Or link thee with the seers divine.-
To sing thee martyr-saint, be mine.

For thou, for thou didst view
That death of deaths, companion true!
In spirit with thy Lord wert torn
By racking cross, and piercing thorn;
The only converse left to thee,
Th' high converse of that agony.

There, as in death He hung,

His mantle soft on Thee He flung

Of filial love, and nam'd thee son,
When now that earthly tie was done
To thy tried faith, and spotless years
Consign'd His Virgin-mother's tears.

;

Could holier charge be given?
True mother of the Lord of Heaven,
Hail'd mother by Himself to thee,
And thou that mother's son as He !
Call'd, as th' Immortal deign'd to die
That loss of losses to supply!

And when His voice was fled, His lingering look on thee He shed; Thee, His belov❜d disciple, taught His dying eye's mysterious thought. When from that blood-stain'd Mercy-throne To all the world His glory shone.

Friend of thy Lord, be mine

My faltering step to match with thine;
To follow onward to the goal

Where love led on thy dauntless soul;
Be mine, as thine, the blessing high,
With Christ to live, with Christ to die.

Glory to Father, Son,

And Spirit-Eternal Three in One.
Lo! this the stedfast creed we bring

Drawn from high Heaven's eternal spring.

THE INNOCENTS' DAY.

AT MIDNIGHT.

Suffer little children to come unto Me; for of such is the kingdom of Heaven.-MATT. XIX.

"Salvete flores martyrum."

LITTLE flowers of martyrdom,

Whom the ruthless sword hath torn,

On the threshold of the morn,

Rosebuds by the whirlwind shorn!

All regardless of their doom,

'Neath the altar where they lay,
With their palm and chaplets gay,
Little simple ones they play.

Tyrant, what avails their tomb?
He shall 'scape the bloody blade,
Which hath many childless made,
Infant born of mother-maid.

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