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There This bleas Thanksgining tight,
the raise To The one gratiful brico;
For what than causs, Lord, is righe
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My God, I love thee ! not because

I hope for heaven thereby ;
Nor because those who love thee not

Must burn eternally.
Thon, O my Jesus, thou didst me

Upon the cross embrace !
For me didst bear the nails and spear,

And manifold disgrace.
And griefs and torments numberless,

And sweat of agony,
Yea, death itself, — and all for one

That was thine enemy.
Then why, O blessed Jesus Christ,

Should I not love thee well ?
Not for the hope of winning heaven,

Nor of escaping hell !
Not with the hope of gaining aught,

Not seeking a reward ;
But as thyself hast loved me,

O everlasting Lord !
E'en so I love thee, and will lore,

And in thy praise will sing,
Solely because thou art my God,
And my eternal King.

ST. FRANCIS XAVIER (Latin). Translation

For as thou dost impart thy grace,

The greater shall our glorie be.
The measure of our joyes is in this place,

The stuffe with thee.
Let me not languish, then, and spend

A life as barren to thy praise
As is the dust, to which that life doth tend,

But with delaies.
All things are busie ; only I

Neither bring hony with the bees,
Nor flowres to make that, nor the husbandrie

To water these.
I am no link of thy great chain,

But all my companie is a weed.
Lord, place me in thy consort ; give one strain

To my poore reed.




O MOTHER dear, Jerusalem,

When shall I come to thee ?
When shall my sorrows have an end, -

Thy joys when shall I see?
O happy harbor of God's saints !

O sweet and pleasant soil !
In thee no sorrow can be found,

Nor grief, nor care, nor toil.
No dimly cloud o'ershadows thee,

Nor gloom, nor darksome night; But every soul shines as the sun,

For God himself gives light. Thy walls are made of precious stone,

Thy bulwarks diamond-square,
Thy gates are all of orient pearl, -

O God ! if I were there!
O my sweet home, Jerusalem !

Thy joys when shall I see ? —
The King sitting upon thy throne,

And thy felicity ?


IF as a flowre doth spread and die,

Thou wouldst extend me to some good, Before I were by frost's extremitie

Nipt in the bud, The sweetnesse and the praise were thine ;

Fut the extension and the room Which in thy garland I should fill were mine

At thy great doom.


Thy gardens and thy goodly walks

Continually are green, Where grow such sweet and pleasant flowers

As nowhere else are seen.

Quite through the streets with pleasing sound

The flood of life doth flow ; And on the banks, on every side,

The trees of life do grow.

DARKNESS is thinning; shadows are retreating;
Morning and light are coming in their beauty.
Suppliant seek we, with an earnest outcry,

God the Almighty !
So that our Master, having mercy on us,
May repel languor, may bestow salvation,
Granting us, Father, of thy loving kindness

Glory hereafter !
This of his mercy, ever-blesséd Godhead,
Father, and Son, and Holy Spirit, give us,
Whom through the wide world celebrate forever

Blessing and glory!
ST. GREGORY THE GREAT (Latin). Translatioa

of J. M. NEALE.

These trees each month yield ripened fruit ;

Forevermore they spring,
And all the nations of the earth

To thee their honors bring.

Jerusalem, God's dwelling-place

Full sore I long to see ; O that my sorrows had an end,

That I might dwell in thee !


I long to see Jerusalem,

The comfort of us all ; For thou art fair and beautiful,

None ill can thee befall.

I LOVE, and have some cause to love, the earth, –

She is my Maker's creature, therefore goud; She is my mother, for she gave me birth ;

She is my tender nurse, she gives me food : But what 's a creature, Lord, compared with

thee? Or what's my mother or my nurse to me?

No candle needs, no moon to shine,

No glittering star to light ; For Christ the King of Righteousness

Forever shineth bright.

0, passing happy were my state,

Might I be worthy found To wait upon my God and King,

His praises there to sound !

Jerusalem! Jerusalem !

Thy joys fain would I see ;
Come quickly, Lord, and end my grief,
And take me home to thee !


I love the air, - her dainty sweets refresh

My drooping soul, and to new sweets invite me; Her shrill-mouthed choir sustain me with their

flesh, And with their polyphonian notes delight me: But what's the air, or all the sweets that she

Can bless my soul withal, compared to thee? I love the sea,

-she is my fellow-creature, My careful purveyor ; she provides me store ; She walls me round ; she makes my diet greater ;

She wafts my treasure from a foreign shore : But, Lord of oceans, when compared with thee, What is the ocean or her wealth to me?


DROP, drop, slow tears,

And bathe those beauteous feet Which brought from heaven

The news and prince of peace ! Cease not, wet eyes,

His mercies to entreat ; To cry for vengeance

Sin doth never cease ; In your deep floods

Drown all my faults and fears ; Nor let his eye

See sin but through my tears.

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Time posteth, O, how fast ! Unwelcome death makes haste ; None can call back what's past,

Judgment delays not ; Though God bring in the light,

Sinners awake not, Because hell's out of sight,

They sin forsake not.

If not possessed, if not enjoyed in thee,

What's earth, or sea, or air, or heaven to me? The highest honors that the world can boast

Are subjects far too low for my desire ;
The brightest beams of glory are, at most,

But dying sparkles of thy living fire ;
The loudest flames that earth can kindle be

But nightly glow-worms if compared to thee. Without thy presence, wealth is bags of cares ;

Wisdom but folly ; joy, disquiet, sadness; Friendship is treason, and delights are snares ; Pleasures but pain, and mirth but pleasing

madness, Without thee, Lord, things be not what they be,

Nor have their being, when compared with thee. In having all things, and not thee, what have I ?

Not having thee, what have my labors got ? Let me enjoy but thee, what further crave I ?

And having thee alone, what have I not?
I wish nor sea, nor land, nor would I be
Possessed of heaven, heaven unpossessed of

thee !

Man walks in a vain show ;
They know, yet will no: know ;
Sit still when they should go,

But run for sha lows,
While they might taste and know
The living streams that now,
And crop the flowers that grow,

In Christ's sweet meadows. Life's better slept away

Than as they use it; In sin and drunken play

Vain men abuse it.


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