Her streets, instead of stones, the stars did pave,

And little pearls, for dust, it seemed to have; On which soft-streaming manna, like pure snow, did wave.

In midst of this city celestial,

Where the eternal temple should have rose, Lightened the idea beatifical :

End and beginning of each thing that grows;
Whose self no end nor yet beginning knows;
That hath no eyes to see, nor ears to hear;
Yet sees, and hears, and is all-eye, all-ear;
That nowhere is contained and yet is every-
where:

Changer of all things, yet immutable;
Before and after all, the first and last;
That, moving all, is yet immovable ;
Great without quantity; in whose forecast
Things past are present, things to come are
past;

Swift without motion; to whose open eye
The hearts of wicked men unbreasted lie;
At once absent and present to them, far and
nigh.

It is no flaming lustre, made of light;
No sweet consent, or well-timed harmony;
Ambrosia, for to feast the appetite,
Or flowery odor, mixt with spicery;
No soft embrace, or pleasure bodily;
And yet it is a kind of inward feast,
A harmony that sounds within the breast,
An odor, light, embrace, in which the soul

doth rest.

A heavenly feast no hunger can consume;
A light unseen, yet shines in every place;
A sound no time can steal; a sweet perfume
No winds can scatter; an entire embrace
That no satiety can ere unlace:
Ingraced into so high a favor, there

The saints, with their beau-peres, whole worlds outwear;

And things unseen do see, and things unheard do hear.

Ye blessed souls, grown richer by your spoil; Whose loss, though great, is cause of greater gains;

Here may your weary spirits rest from toil, Spending your endless evening that remains, Among those white flocks and celestial trains, That feed upon their Shepherd's eyes, and

frame

That heavenly music of so wondrous fame, Psalming aloud the holy honors of his name!

GILES FLETCHER.

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A HYMN OF GLORY LET US SING.

Hymnum canamus gloriæ."

BEDA VENERABILIS, an Anglo-Saxon monk and presbyter at Yarrow, the most learned man of his age, the historian of England, and the first translator of portions of the New Testament into our language, died in 735.

A HYMN of glory let us sing;

New songs throughout the world shall ring;
By a new way none ever trod
Christ mounteth to the throne of God.

The apostles on the mountain stand,
The mystic mount, in Holy Land ;
They, with the virgin-mother, see
Jesus ascend in majesty.

The angels say to the eleven:
"Why stand ye gazing into heaven?
This is the Saviour, - this is he!
Jesus hath triumphed gloriously!"
They said the Lord should come again,
As these beheld him rising then,
Calm soaring through the radiant sky,
Mounting its dazzling summits high.

May our affections thither tend,
And thither constantly ascend,
Where, seated on the Father's throne,
Thee reigning in the heavens we own!

Be thou our present joy, O Lord!
Who wilt be ever our reward;
And, as the countless ages flee,
May all our glory be in thee!

From the Latin of BEDA. Translated by
ELIZABETH (RUNDLF) CHARLES.

A HYMN UPON THE TRANS-
FIGURATION.

HAIL, King of glory, clad in robes of light,
Outshining all we here call bright!
Hail, light's divinest galaxy!

Hail, express image of the Deity!
Could now thy amorous spouse thy beauties
view,

How would her wounds all bleed anew!
Lovely thou art, all o'er, and bright,
Thou Israel's glory, and thou Gentiles' light.
But whence this brightness, whence this su.!-
den day?

Who did thee thus with light array?
Did thy divinity dispense

To its consort a more liberal influence?
Or did some curious angel's chymic art
The spirits of purest light impart,
Drawn from the native spring of day,
And wrought into an organized ray?

Right gloriously strife endeth now!
Henceforward all things to thee bow,
And at the Father's side sit thou!
O Jesus, all our wishes' goal,
Be thou our joy when troubles roll,
And the reward of every soul!
Bow before his name eternal,
Things terrestrial, things supernal,
And infernal.

Translated from the Latin of an unknown
author by JOHN MASON NEALE.

THE DISCIPLES AFTER THE

ASCENSION.

ARTHUR PENRHYN STANLEY, Dean of Westminster, and a learned author, was born at Alderley, Cheshire, Jan. 13, 1815. He was a favorite pupil of Dr. Arnold at Rugby, and graduated at Oxford in 1838. He has written the "Life of Dr. Arnold" and many other works, and is one of the revisers of the authorized version of the Bible. The following poem is transcribed from a manuscript copy kindly furnished by the author to Dr. Philip Schaff, Ascension Day, May 6, 1869, with a note to the effect that the "hymn was written in 1859, at the request of a friend whose children had complained to him that there was no suitable hymn for Ascension Day, and who were eagerly asking what had been the feelings of the disciples after that event."

HE is gone; beyond the skies,

A cloud receives him from our eyes:
Gone beyond the highest height
Of mortal gaze or angel's flight:
Through the veils of time and space,
Passed into the holiest place:
All the toil, the sorrow done,
All the battle fought and won.

He is gone; and we return,
And our hearts within us burn;
Olivet no more shall greet

With welcome shout his coming feet:
Never shall we track him more

On Gennesareth's glistening shore:
Never in that look or voice
Shall Zion's walls again rejoice.

He is gone; and we remain

In this world of sin and pain:

In the void which he has left,
On this earth, of him bereft,
We have still his work to do,
We can still his path pursue:
Seek him both in friend and foe,
In ourselves his image show.

He is gone; we heard him say, "Good that I should go away"; Gone is that dear form and face, But not gone his present grace;

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Though himself no more we sec,
Comfortless we cannot be;
No! his Spirit still is ours,
Quickening, freshening all our powers.

He is gone towards their goal
World and church must onward roll;
Far behind we leave the past,
Forward are our glances cast;
Still his words before us range
Through the ages, as they change:
Wheresoe'er the truth shall lead,
He will give whate'er we need.

He is gone; but we once more
Shall behold him as before,

In the heaven of heavens the same
As on earth he went and came.
In the many mansions there
Place for us he will prepare:
In that world, unseen, unknown,
He and we may yet be one.

WHO IS GONE INTO HEAVEN. MRS. EMMA TOKE, wife of the Rev. Nicholas Toke, rector of Godington Park, Asford, Kent, has never published anything, but wrote a few hymns at the request of a friend, who introduced them into the collection of the Society for Promot ing Christian Knowledge, in 1853.

THOU art gone up on high,
To mansions in the skies:
And round thy throne unceasingly
The songs of praise arise.
But we are lingering here,

With sin and care oppressed;
Lord, send thy promised Comforter,
And lead us to thy rest.

Thou art gone up on high;

But thou didst first come down, Through earth's most bitter agony To pass unto thy crown; And girt with griefs and fears

Our onward course must be ; But only let this path of tears Lead us at last to thee.

Thank God that now the way is made!

The cherub-guarded door,

Through him on whom our help was laid,
Stands open evermore;

Who knoweth this is glad at heart,
And swift prepares him to depart
Where Christ is gone before:
Hallelujah!

Our heavenward course begins when we
Have found our Father, God,

And join us to his sons, and flee

The paths that once we trod;

For he looks down, and they look up:
They feel his love, they live in hope,
Until they meet their Lord:
Hallelujah!

Then all the depths of joy that lie

In this day we shall know,
When we are made like him on high,
Whom we confess below;

When, bathed in life's eternal flood,
We dwell with him, the highest Good:
God grant us this to know!

Hallelujah!

JOHANNES ZWICK, 1538. Translated CATHERINE WINKWORTH, 1859