Of griefs his portion, who, had all their due,
One single wound should not have left for you.

Shall I set there

So deep a share,

Dear wounds, and only now

In sorrows draw no dividend with you!
O, be more wise,

If not more soft, mine eyes!
Flow, tardy founts! and into decent show'rs
Dissolve my days and hours:

And if thou yet, faint soul, defer

To bleed with Him, fail not to weep with Her.

Rich Queen, lend some relief,

At least in alms of grief,

To a heart who, by a sad right of sin, Could prove the whole sum, too sure, due to him.

By all those stings

Of love, sweet bitter things,

Which these torn hands transcribed on Thy true heart ;

Till, drunk of the dear wounds, I be

A lost thing to the world, as it to me!
O, faithful friend

Of me and of my end!

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Fold up my life in love, and lay't beneath

My dear Lord's vital death.

Lo, heart, thy hope's whole plea! Her precious breath Pour'd out in prayers for thee; thy Lord's in death.

FITH all the pow'rs my poor heart hath,
Of humble love and loyal faith,

Thus low, my hidden life! I bow to Thee,

Whom too much love hath bow'd more low for me.

Down, down, proud sense! discourses die,

Keep close, my soul's enquiring eye!
Nor touch nor taste must look for more,
But each sit still in his own door.

Your ports are all superfluous here,
Save that which lets in faith-the ear.
Faith is my skill, faith can believe
As fast as love new laws can give.
Faith is my force, faith strength affords
To keep pace with those pow'rful words:
And words more sure, more sweet than they
Love could not think, truth could not say.

O, let Thy wretch find that relief Thou didst afford the faithful thief;

Plead for me, Love! allege and show
That faith has farther here to go,

And less to lean on; because then,

Though hid as God, wounds write Thee man;
Thomas might touch none but might see,

At least, the suff'ring side of Thee

e;

And that, too, was Thyself which Thee did cover, But here even that's hid, too, which hides the other.

Sweet, consider then, that I,

Though allow'd not hand nor eye
To teach at Thy loved face, nor can
Taste Thee God, or touch Thee man,
Both yet believe and witness Thee,
My Lord, too, and my God, as loud as He.

Help, Lord, my hope increase,
And fill my portion in Thy peace.

Give love for life, nor let my days

Grow, but in new powers to name Thy praise.

O, dear memorial of that death

Which lives still, and allows us breath!

Rich, royal flood! bountiful bread!

Whose use denies us to the dead;

Whose vital gust alone can give

The same leave both to eat and live ;

Live ever, bread of loves, and be

My life, my soul, my surer self to me!

O, soft self-wounding pelican,

Whose breast weeps balm for wounded man!

Ah, this way bend thy benign flood,
To a bleeding heart that gasps for blood;
That blood whose least drop sovereign be
To wash my worlds of sins from me!
Come, love! come, Lord! and that long day
For which I languish, come away;
When this dry soul those eyes shall see,
And drink the unseal'd source of Thee;
When glory's sun faith's shade shall chase,
Then for Thy veil give me Thy face. Amen.

THE HYMN FOR THE BLESSED SACRAMENT.

LAUDA SION SALVATOREM.

ISE, royal Sion! rise and sing

Thy soul's kind shepherd, thy heart's King.
Stretch all thy powers, call, if you can,

Harps of heav'n to hands of man

This sovereign subject sits above

The best ambition of thy love.

Lo, the bread of life! this day's
Triumphant text provokes Thy praise-
The living and life-giving bread
To the great twelve distributed,
When Life Himself at point to die,
Of Love, was his own legacy.

Come, Love! and let us work a song
Loud and pleasant, sweet and long;

Let lips and hearts lift high the noise
Of so just and solemn joys,

Which on His white brows this bright day
Shall hence for ever bear away.

Lo, the new law of a new Lord, With a new Lamb blesses the board! The aged Pascha pleads not years,. But spies love's dawn, and disappears. Types yield to truths, shades shrink away, And their night dies into our day.

But, lest that die too, we are bid
Ever to do what he once did;
And, by a mindful, mystic breath,
That we may live, revive His death;
With a well-blest bread and wine
Transumed and taught to turn divine.

The heav'n-instructed house of faith

Here a holy dictate hath,

That they but lend their form and face,
Themselves with reverence leave their place,
Nature and name, to be made good
By nobler bread, more needful blood.

Where Nature's laws no leave will give, Bold faith takes heart, and dares believe In different species, name not things,