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 lovéd me,

O everlasting Lord !

THE NEW JERUSALEM.

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

of EDWARD CASWELL.

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 ?

EMPLOYMENT.

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 ;

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

At thy great doom.

DARKNESS IS THINNING.

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 LOVE, AND HAVE SOME CAUSE

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 !

DAVID DICKSON.

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.

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.

PHINEAS FLETCHER

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.

Man walks in a vain show ;
They know, yet will not know;
Sit still when they should go,

But run for sha lows,
While they might taste and know
The living streams that flow,
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.

RICHARD BAXTER.

THE BIRD LET LOOSE.

The bird let loose in eastern skies,

When hastening fondly home,
Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies

Where idle warblers roam ;
But high she shoots through air and light,

Above all low delay, Where nothing earthly bounds her flight,

Nor shadow dims her way.

So grant me, God, from every care

And stain of passion free,
Aloft, through Virtue's purer air,

To hold my course to thee!
No sin to cloud, no lure to stay

My soul, as home she springs ; Thy sunshine on her joyful way, Thy freedom in her wings!

THOMAS MOORE.

THE PILGRIMAGE.

Give me my scallop-shell of quiet,

My staff of faith to walk upon ; My scrip of joy, immortal diet ;

My bottle of salvation ; My gown of glory, hope's true gauge, And thus I 'll take my pilgrimage ! Blood must be my body's 'balmer, No other balm will there be given ; Whilst my soul, like quiet palmer, Travelleth towards the land of Heaven ;