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He will us to honour raise :

You, His saints, resound His praise;
You who are of Jacob's race,
And united to His grace.

CATECHISM.

Он, say not, dream not, heavenly notes
To childish ears are vain ;

That the young mind at random floats,
And cannot reach the strain.

Dim or unheard the words may fall,

And yet the heaven-taught mind
May learn the sacred air, and all
The harmony unwind.

Was not our Lord a little child,
Taught by degrees to pray;
By father dear, and mother mild,
Instructed day by day?

And lov'd He not of heaven to talk,
With children in His sight;

SANDYS.

To meet them in His daily walk,
And to His arms invite?

What though around His throne of fire
The everlasting chant

Be wafted from the seraph-choir
In glory jubilant!

CATECHISM.

Yet stoops He, ever pleas'd to mark
Our rude essays of love,
Faint as the pipe of wak'ning lark,
Heard by some twilight grove.

Yet is He near us, to survey
These bright and order'd files,
Like spring-flow'rs in their best array,
All silence and all smiles.

Save that each little voice in turn
Some glorious truth proclaims,
What sages would have died to learn,
Now taught by cottage dames.

And if some tones be false or low,
What are all pray'rs beneath
But cries of babes, that cannot know
Half the deep thoughts they breathe?

In His own words we Christ adore ;
But angels, as we speak,
Higher above our meaning soar
Than we o'er children weak.

And yet His words mean more than they,
And yet He owns their praise:
Why should we think He turns away
From infants' simple lays?

R

181

KEBLE.

VENI CREATOR.

CREATOR Spirit, by whose aid

The world's foundations first were laid,
Come, visit ev'ry pious mind;
Come, pour Thy joys on human kind;
From sin and sorrow set us free,
And make Thy temples worthy Thee.

O Source of uncreated light,
The Father's promis'd Paraclete !
Thrice-holy fount, thrice-holy fire,
Our hearts with heav'nly love inspire;
Come, and Thy sacred unction bring,
To sanctify us while we sing.

Plenteous of grace, descend from high,
Rich in Thy sevenfold energy!
Thou strength of His almighty hand,
Whose pow'r does heav'n and earth command.
Proceeding Spirit, our defence,
Who dost the gift of tongues dispense,
And crown'st Thy gift with eloquence;

Refine and purge our earthly parts;
But, oh, inflame and fire our hearts!
Our frailties help, our vice control,
Submit the senses to the soul;
And when rebellious they are grown,
Then lay Thine hand, and hold them down.

Chase from our minds the infernal foe,
And peace, the fruit of love, bestow;

DEPARTED SAINTS.

And, lest our feet should step astray,
Protect and guide us in the way.
Make us eternal truths receive,
And practise all that we believe;
Give us Thyself, that we may see
The Father and the Son by Thee.

Immortal honour, endless fame,
Attend the Almighty Father's Name;
The Saviour Son be glorified,
Who for lost man's redemption died;
And equal adoration be,
Eternal Paraclete, to Thee!

183

DRYDEN.

FROM THE FUNERAL SERVICE.

MAN that is born of woman, short his time,
And full of woe! he springeth like a flower,
Or like the grass, that, green at morning prime,
Is cut and withereth ere the evening hour;
Never doth he continue in one stay,
But like a shadow doth he pass away.
Yet not for ever, O Lord God most high!
Saviour! yet not for ever shall we die!

SOUTHEY.

CONTEMPLATION OF DEPARTED SAINTS.

THEY are all gone into a world of light,
And I alone sit lingering here;

184

THE DEAD.

Their very memory is fair and bright,
And my sad thoughts doth clear.

It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast,
Like stars upon some gloomy grove,

Or those faint beams with which yon hill is drest
After the sun's remove.

I see them walking in an air of glory,
Whose light doth trample on my days;
My days, which are at best but dull and hoary,
Mere glimmerings and decays.

Dear beauteous death, the jewel of the just,
Shining no where but in the dark;
What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust,
Could man outlook that mark!

H. VAUGHAN.

THE DEAD.

NAME them not dead-the faithful whom
Green earth closed lately o'er;
Nor search within the silent tomb
For those who "die no more."
The cold earth hides them from our love,
But not from His who pleads above.

They passed, as all must pass, the deep
Dread portals of the grave;

But not in dull decay they sleep
Whom Jesus died to save.

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