JOHN AND CHARLES MOZLEY, 6, PATERNOSTER ROW;

AND PARKER AND CO. OXFORD.

13.2

VOL. 6.

No VII.-FOR SAINTS' DAYS.

(Superna matris gaudia)

SET forth, O Church, exultingly
The joys of Salem throned on high;
And keeping yearly holyday,
Long for the feast that lasts for aye.

O let the mother aid her child,'
Beleaguered in this desert wild,
And guards celestial here below
Join ranks with ours against the foe.

The world, the flesh, and Satan wage
Their warfare with incessant rage,
And by their ghostly onsets wrest
Away the Sabbath of the breast.

This triple league with hatred sore
Our holy festivals abhor,

And joined in kindred union strive
The peace of God from earth to drive.

All here is with confused noise,

All hopes and griefs, all fears and joys:
Not one half hour to us is given'

To taste the eternal calm of Heaven.

How blest that City throned above
In feast-day of perpetual love!
How sweet those courts celestial are,
Untouched by mortal toil and care!

'Gal. iv. 26.

1

PRICE 18.

2 Rev. viii. 1.

PART 31.

No languor, no old age they know,
No fraud, no terror of the foe;
But one the voice of them that sing,
One glow all hearts illumining.

The citizens Angelical,

In threefold hierarchy, all
Do homage with devotion high
To the One Trinal Sovereignty.

Unfaltering they fix their glance
On His unveiled countenance,
And Him insatiate adore,
Whom to enjoy they thirst the more.

The Fathers ranged on either hand,
According to their honour stand;
The mists of earth away are rolled,
And in His light they light behold.

The Saints of God, whose high estate
We here to-day commemorate,
Now face to face eternally

Their King in all His Beauty see.

Us, by Thy Church Triumphant's prayer,
Freed from this world of sin and care,
We pray Thee, bring to Thy reward,
Through the sole merits of our Lord.

Amen.

PSALM XLVIII.

(Magnus Dominus.)

FOR WHIT-SUNDAY.

GREAT is the Lord! Let the watchword be given,
Clear from thy ramparts, O city of peace;

One to another, in earth as in Heaven,

Pass the Hosanna that never shall cease.

Fair to the eye is that beautiful city,

Fair in her glory, and fair in her doom;

Lovely she lay in the light of His pity,

Whose tears were the dew of her fast-closing gloom.