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Hymn for Septuagesima.
Past are the days of Festival,
And days of Fast draw nigh,
When with due abstinence we seek,
To our Confessions and our Hymns,
Freed from world-Egypt's servile yoke,
And Babel's misery,
Eager our destined home we seek,
Jerusalem on High.
We flee our exile here below,
Be thou O Christ the life-long guide,
Of all Thy scattered flocks,
For whom the iron Thy soul did pierce,
To Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,
Hymns for Lent.
Hear, gracious Lord! Thy suppliants hear, Nor scorn their prayers to own,
Through these long days, for Thee so dear, Poured forth with sigh and groan,
Dear searcher of man's inmost heart,
Unnumbered sins our memories trace,
And for the glory of Thy grace,
With strength Thy weak ones bless.
Grant us through grace the power to tame, Those lusts so wide that roam;
So sin shall no food, nor shame
Make in our hearts her home.
Thy mourning suppliants deign to hear,
Within our souls let fasting bear
Its flowers and fruit divine.
Salvation's Sun! within our souls,
Accepted times, Thy grace imparts;
To lave those offerings of our hearts,
From those dark founts whence sin did flow,
Let tears of anguish start;
Give scourge of penitential woe,
To furrow each hard heart.
So when in Thine own glorious day,
Placed on Thy right hand be.
Earth bending down adoreth Thee,
And man reborn in new framed lays,
Chaunts evermore Thine endless praise.
Hymns on the Passion.
Forth flames the standard of our King,
When life bore death of suffering,
And death wrought life divine.
The stabs of the accursed spear,
To cleanse sin's stains so dark and drear,