AT THE MATTINS. Surely the Lord is in this place . . . . How dreadful is this place! this is none other but the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.-GEN. xxviii. "Patris æterni soboles coæva." O WORD of God above, Who fillest all in all, Hallow this house with Thy sure love, And bless our festival. There dwells in this deep fount Anointing souls to lave, And from beneath this holy mount Goes forth the healing wave. Here Christ, of His own blood, Himself the chalice gives, And feeds His own with angels' food, On which the Spirit lives. For guilty souls that pine Sure mercies here abound, And healing grace, with oil and wine, For every secret wound. God from His throne afar, Comes in this house to dwell; And prayer, beyond the evening star, Builds here her citadel. No wintry storm nor shower Shall harm this holy home, Nor, worse than they, the evil power Which dwells within the gloom. All might, all praise be Thine, The Father, Son, and Spirit Divine, Gg AT THE SECOND VESPERS. Lord, who shall dwell in Thy tabernacle: or who shall rest upon Thy holy hill? Even he that leadeth an uncorrupt life: and doeth the thing which is right, and speaketh the truth from his heart.-PSALM XV. "Ecce sedes hic Tonantis." THIS is the abode where God doth dwell, The shrine of the Invisible, The Priest, the Victim given, In boundless charity. O holy seat, O holy fane, Where dwells the Omnipotent, And here He deigns to dwell. Here, where the unearthly Guest descends To hearts of innocence, And sacred love her wing extends Of holiest influence, He 'mid his children loves to be In lowly majesty. Let no unhallow'd thought be here Let nought polluted dare draw near, Or, lo, the Avenger is at hand, And at the door doth stand! To Thee, ne'er ending, ne'er begun, Thrice holy Trinity, Father, and Son, and Spirit—One, Anointing for Thy dwelling-place FROM THE PARISIAN MISSAL. Out of the deep have I called unto Thee, O Lord; Lord, hear my voice: O let Thine ears consider well the voice of my complaint. If Thou, Lord, wilt be extreme to mark what is done amiss, O Lord, who may abide it?-PSALM CXXX. "Dies iræ, dies illa." DAY of wrath!-that awful day Shall the banner'd Cross display, That Λ The trembling, the agony, When His coming shall be nigh, When the trumpet's thrilling tone, Death and Time shall stand aghast, Rise, to answer for the past. Then the volume shall be spread, And the writing shall be read, Which shall judge the quick and dead! Then the Judge shall sit! oh! then, What shall wretched I then plead ? Who for me shall intercede, When the righteous scarce is freed? King of dreadful Majesty, Saving souls in mercy free, Fount of Pity, save Thou me! |