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Capitulum. Isaiah, li.

The Lord shall comfort Zion; he will comfort all her waste places; and he will make her wilderness like Eden, and her desert like the garden of the Lord; joy and gladness shall be found therein, thanksgiving, and the voice of melody.

If the person commemorated be an Abbot, Monk, or Cœnobite.

The Hymn.

Fair camp, in arms of peaceful Fortitude,
And no ungentle warfare, in one band
Together knit of holy brotherhood,

One faith, one hope, one leader; sternly train'd

Far from earth's noise to learn th' eternal song,
And gain the conquest of a heavenly land!

By prayer, and holy plaints which heav'n gate throng,
And discipline of penitential ways,

The flesh is weaken'd, but the soul is strong.

Each for himself, and each for other prays,
All for God's church; thus, in blest union,
The strength of interwoven shields they raise,

To storm the citadel, high mercy's throne;
No unapproved violence, for so

The Father of all goodness would be won!

Then, 'tween dark clouds, the covenanted bow
Opens, a glorious city to disclose,

Where angels to their aid pass to and fro.

When fervid day with busy tumult glows,

Their voice is heard not; but when tranquil even
Comes on, with stillness of the night's repose,

And the world sleeps, their voice is heard in heaven.
Thus self-denial girds the homeward soul;
And feeble knees to prayer and watchings given
Gain strength, the eye is cleans'd to see the goal:
Not idle, though by other's toils supplied.
Thus conscience takes the reins of self-controul,
And her lost regal strength, to sway the tide
Of roving and wild thoughts, herself made free
By taking of Christ's yoke, releas'd from pride

Of her own heart; releas'd from vanity;
Glad to receive what God thinks good to give,
Sole charter of celestial liberty! &c. &c.

For an Anchorite and Solitary.
The Hymn.

Why dost thou flee the peopled seat?
Why love the shade and dim retreat?
What see'st thou in that silent mood,
Conversing with the solitude?

Thus soars the soul on freer wing,
To mansions of unfading spring;
And less to earthly influence given,
Her meditation holds with heav'n.

In quietness of sacred love
They present seem with choirs above;
Their thoughts with God for evermore,
To know, to worship, and adore.

What joys thou dost to them impart,
Who serve thee, Lord, with steadfast heart.
They seek for thee the cave unblest;
Thou hidest them in thy fostering breast.

* v. I cried unto thee, O Lord, I said, thou art my refuge,land of the living.-Ps. cxlii.

&c. &c.

—r. and my portion in the

The Versicles always follow the hymn at the Lands and Vespers; and the Antiphone of the last Psalm at the Nocturns; and the short Responsory, at the first and other Hours. Instances of the first may be here seen, as would have been in the other two had space allowed for those parts to have been given. In these offices called Commune, there are Lectios given for the Sunday which occurs before the Octave, and likewise for the Octave, besides those for the day as here given. In the present service they must be omitted with regret, being taken from Augustine, Jerome, Basil, and Chrysostom. In the Roman Breviary there is no Commune Monarchorum, in other respects the subjects are mostly similar.

SACRED POETRY.

THE COUNTRY PASTOR.

THE PASTOR REPROVING.

LAZARUS is at the gate, thou know'st it not,
Or ah! too well I know thy heart would bleed,
Albeit used on gentle thoughts to feed ;
But wall'd about with blessings is thy lot,
While dark winds prowl without, and are forgot,
Nor ever dost thou see, nor hear, nor heed,
Penury's stern family, from cloud of need
Cowering and huddling 'neath the wintry cot.
Thou know'st it not-thy Saviour is on earth!

And thou mayst find Him in affliction's smile
By the lorn widow's side, and the cold hearth
Of earth-bowed Eld, and clothe Him in His poor.
Oh, haste, for Time is on the wing, and while
Thou know'st it not, thy Judge is at the door.*

THE PASTOR'S DIFFICULTY.

LOVE cannot reach him, arrows of Despair,

And Hope, and Fear, fall from him, hedged in scale
Of wild obduracy, like iron mail;

But, Pastor, hast thou left no weapon there,

In thy Heav'n-furnish'd quiver? It is Prayer;
Wing'd by Faith's pure resolve Prayer shall prevail;
It hath the Promise. Into Life's dim vale,
Prayer doth of Help the golden gates unbar;
To good of purpose stern that rugged brow
May turn; Love o'er scar'd rock his tendrils throw,
As when in palaces of Chaos lorn

The Spirit came descending, on rude thorn,
Woke by that sacred touch the flower was born,
And bird new-made sang on the new-made bough.

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The question has been well asked, Does it appear from the Scripture account that the rich man was aware of Lazarus's being at his gate? is it not rather implied that he was living a life in which he was not likely to know of such a circumstance?

Hast thou the chained eagle seen
Gazing on the sun?

Who, had his bonds been broke, I ween,
Short space would soon have left between
That glorious One

And him, so swiftly had he flown!

Mine is the fetter'd eagle's fate,
For many a tiresome day
I sit and gaze on heaven's gate,
And in unwilling durance wait,
In bonds of clay,

For power to arise and to flee away.

And the Sabbath bell doth gently break
That cruel and galling chain;
Its peaceful toll doth bid me awake
From my lethargy, and undertake
(O wondrous gain!)

A flight to the land where my Father doth reign.

This world prevaileth to hold me down

For six long tedious days,

But the Sabbath bell doth speak of the crown
Which is kept in reserve for saints of renown;
It tells of the praise

Which the blessed ascribe to the Ancient of Days.
That Sabbath bell, as it beats the air

Speaketh in accents sweet,

Like the voice of an angel calling to prayer,
And loudly proclaiming that God is there,
Where His people meet-

That he sits, as of old, on His mercy-seat.

It speaketh of Him who hath promised to be
Amidst His worshippers,

Who despiseth not a small company,
But is present wherever two or three
With penitent tears

Offer up, in His name, their humble prayers.

It telleth me that the church of God

Is keeping holiday;

That she, whose feet six days have trod
With pain a narrow and rugged road,
Goeth out of her way

To banquet with the King to-day.

It speaketh of saints of other days
Who are now in Paradise,

Who, in times of yore, were wont to raise,
At the sound of that bell, their hymns of praise,

A sacrifice

Which God Almighty did not despise !

It bids me follow that distant throng,
E'en now in this my day,
With them it bids me raise the song,
And in their steps to move along
The narrow way,

Bound for the regions of endless day.

And so it joins me with that band,
That holy company,

Who at the Son of God's right hand,
In the great day of doom, shall stand,
Made meet to be

Children of immortality!

Then ever at that welcome sound
My spirit shall leap,

And my poor heart shall lightly bound,
Like one that walketh on fairy ground,
Till, fall'n asleep,

I shall an endless Sabbath keep!

JUVENIS.

Lyra Apostolica.

Γνοῖεν δ', ὡς δὴ δηρὸν ἐγὼ πολέμοιο πέπαυμαι.

NO. XXIX.
1.

DEAR, sainted friends, I call not you
To share the joy serene,
Which flows upon me from the view
Of crag and steep ravine.

Ye, on that loftier mountain old,
Safe lodged in Eden's cell,
Whence run the rivers four, behold
This earth, as ere it fell.

Or, when ye think of those who stay,
Still tried by the world's fight,
"Tis but in looking for the day
Which shall the lost unite.

Ye rather, elder spirits strong!
Who from the first have trod
This nether scene, man's race among,
The while ye live to God.

Ye hear, and ye can sympathize;
Vain thought! those eyes of fire

Pierce through God's works, and duly prize;
Ye smile when we admire.

Ah Saviour LORD! with Thee my heart

Angel nor Saint shall share;

To Thee 'tis known, for man Thou art,
To soothe each tumult there.

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They hear it sweep

In distance down the dark and savage vale;
But they at rocky bed, or current deep,
Shall never more grow pale;

They hear, and meekly muse, as fain to know
How long untired, unspent, that giant stream shall flow.

And soothing sounds

Blend with the neighbouring waters as they glide;
Posted along the haunted garden's bounds,
Angelic forms abide,

Echoing as words of watch o'er lawn and grove
The verses of that hymn which Seraphs chant above.

3.

WEEP not for me;

Be blithe as wont, nor tinge with gloom
The stream of love that circles home,
Light hearts and free!

Joy in the gifts Heaven's bounty lends;
Nor miss my face, dear friends!

I still am near ;

Watching the smiles I prized on earth,
Your converse mild, your blameless mirth;
Now, too, I hear

Of whispered sounds the tale complete,
Low prayers, and musings sweet.

A sea before

The Throne is spread; its pure, still glass
Pictures all earth-scenes as they pass.
We, on its shore,

Share, in the bosom of our rest,

GOD's knowledge, and are blest!

4.

WHILE Moses on the Mountain lay,
Night after night, and day by day,
Till forty suns were gone,
Unconscious, in the Presence bright,
Of lustrous day and starry night,
As though his soul had flitted quite
From earth, and Eden won;

The pageant of a kingdom vast,
And things unutterable, past
Before the Prophet's eye;
Dread shadows of the Eternal Throne,
The fount of Life, and Altar-stone,

Pavement, and them that tread thereon,
And those who worship nigh.

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