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THE MASS.

What power shall be the sinner's

stay? How shall he meet that dreadful

day?

When, shrivelling like a parched

scroll, The flaming heavens together roll; When louder yet, and yet more

dread, Swells the high trump that wakes

the dead!

With naked foot, and sackcloth vest, And arms infolded on his breast,

Did every pilgrim go; The standers-by might hear uneath, Footstep, or voice, or high-drawn

breath, Through all the lengthened row: No lordly look, nor martial stride, Gone was their glory, sunk their pride,

Forgotten their renown; Silent and slow, like ghosts, they glide To the high altar's hallowed side,

And there they knelt them down: Above the suppliant chieftains wave The banners of departed brave; Beneath the lettered stones were laid The ashes of their fathers dead; From many a garnished niche around, Stern saints and tortured martyrs

frowned.

Oh! on that day, that wrathful

day, When man to judgment wakes from

clay, Be Thou the trembling sinner's

stay, Though heaven and earth shall pass away!

SCOTT.

FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY.

" AND whither would you lead me

then ?" Quoth the Friar of orders gray; And the ruffians twain replied again,

By a dying woman to pray."

“I see,” he said, “ a lovely sight,

A sight bodes little harm, A lady as a lily bright,

With an infant on her arm."

And slow up the dim aisle afar,
With sable cowl and scapular,
And snow-white stoles, in order due,
The holy Fathers, two and two,

In long procession came:
Taper, and host, and book they bare,
And holy banner, flourished fair

With the Redeemer's name. Above the prostrate pilgrim band The mitred Abbot stretched his hand,

And blessed them as they kneeled; With holy cross he signed them all, And prayed they might be sage in hall,

And fortunate in field. Then mass was sung, and prayers

were said, And solemn requiem for the dead; And bells tolled out their mighty peal, For the departed spirit's weal; And ever in the office close The hymn of intercession rose; And far the echoing aisles prolong The awful burden of the song,

DIES IRÆ, DIES ILLA

SOLVET SÆCLUM IN FAVILLA;
While the pealing organ rung;

Were it meet with sacred strain
To close my lay, so light and vain,
Thus the holy Fathers sung: -

“ Then do thine office, Friar gray,

And see thou shrive her free! Else shall the sprite that parts to

night, Fling all its guilt on thee.

“Let mass be said, and trentals read,

When thou'rt to convent gone, And bid the bell of St. Benedict

Toll out its deepest tone." The shrift is done, the Friar is gone,

Blindfolded as he came; Next morning all, in Littlecot Hall

Were weeping for their dame.

HYMN FOR THE DEAD,

That day of wrath, that dreadful day, When heaven and earth shall pass

away,

Wild Darrell is an altered man,

The village crones can tell;
He looks pale as clay, and strives to

pray,
If he hears the convent bell.

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