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Pour on thy noblest sweets, which, when they touch
This sweeter body, shall indeed be such.
But must Thy bed, Lord, be a borrow'd grave,
Who lend'st to all things all the life they have?

O, rather use this heart, thus far a fitter stone, 'Cause, though a hard and cold one, yet it is Thine own. Amen.

The Antiphon.

O, save us, then,

Merciful King of men!

Since thou would'st needs be thus

A Saviour, and at such a rate, for us;
Save us, O save us, Lord!

We now will own no shorter wish, nor name a narrower word.

Thy blood bids us be bold;

Thy wounds give us fair hold;

Thy sorrows chide our shame;

Thy Cross, Thy nature, and Thy name

Advance our claim

And cry with one accord,

Save them, O save them, Lord!

The Versicle.

Lo, we adore Thee,

Dread Lamb! and bow thus low before Thee;

The Responsor.

'Cause by the covenant of Thy Cross

Thou hast saved the world from certain loss.

The Prayer.

O, my Lord Jesu Christ, Son of the living God! interpose, I pray Thee, Thine own precious death, Thy Cross and Passion, betwixt my soul and Thy judgment, now and in the hour of my death. And vouchsafe to grant me Thy grace and mercy; to the living and dead, remission and rest; to Thy Church, peace and concord; to us sinners, life and glory everlasting. Who livest and reignest with the Father, in the unity of the Holy Ghost, one God, world without end. Amen.

THE RECOMMENDATION.

HESE hours, and that which hovers o'er my end,

Into Thy hands and heart, Lord, I commend!

Take both to Thine account, that I and mine
In that hour, and in these, may be all Thine.

That as I dedicate my devoutest breath,
To make a kind of life for my Lord's death,

So from His living, and life-giving death,

My dying life may draw a new and never-fleeting breath!

VEXILLA REGIS.

The Hymn of the Holy Cross.

OOK up, languishing soul! Lo, where the fair

Badge of thy faith calls back thy care,

And bids thee ne'er forget

Thy life is one long debt

Of love to Him who, on this painful tree,

Paid back the flesh He took for thee.

Lo, how the streams of life from that full nest Of loves, thy Lord's too liberal breast,

Flow in an amorous flood

Of water wedding blood!

With these He wash'd thy stain, transferr'd thy smart, And took it home to His own heart.

But thou, great love, greedy of such sad gain, Usurp❜d the portion of Thy pain,

And from the nails and spear

Turn'd the steel point of fear,

Their use is changed, not lost; and now they move

Not stings of wrath, but wounds of love.

Tall tree of life! Thy truth makes good What was till now ne'er understood,

Though the prophetic King

Struck loud his faithful string;

It was thy wood he meant should make the throne For a more than Solomon.

Large throne of Love! royally spread

With purple of too rich a red :

Thy crime is too much duty;

Thy burthen too much beauty!

Glorious or grievous more? thus to make good Thy costly excellence with thy King's own blood.

Even balance of both worlds! our world of sin, And that of grace heav'n weigh'd in Him, Us with our price thou weighed'st; Our price for us thou payed'st;

Soon as the right-hand scale rejoiced to prove How much death weigh'd more light than Love.

Hail, our alone Hope! let Thy fair head shoot Aloft; and fill the nations with Thy noble fruit. The while our hearts and we

Thus graft ourselves on Thee,

Grow Thou, and they; and be Thy fair increase The sinner's pardon, and the just man's peace.

Live, O, for ever live and reign,

The Lamb whom His own love has slain !

And let Thy lost sheep live t' inherit

That kingdom which this Cross did merit. Amen.

CHARITAS NIMIA,

Or the Dear Bargain.

ORD, what is man? why should he cost
Thee

So dear? what had his ruin lost Thee?
Lord, what is man? that Thou hast over-bought
So much a thing of nought?

Love is too kind, I see, and can
Make but a simple merchantman.
"Twas for such sorry merchandise
Bold painters have put out his eyes.

Alas, sweet Lord! what were't to Thee If there were no such worms as we? Heav'n ne'ertheless still heav'n would be. Should mankind dwell

In the deep hell,

What have his woes to do with Thee?

Let him go weep

O'er his own wounds;

Seraphim will not sleep,

Nor spheres let fall their faithful rounds.

Still would the youthful spirits sing, And still Thy spacious palace ring;

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