Underneath his towers derided

Conscience lurked, as strong as hell,
But thine eye the times divided,
And the spark in season fell.

As an island in a river,

Vexed with ceaseless rave and roir, Keeps an inner silence ever

On its consecrated shore,
Flowered with flowers and green with grasses ;
So the poor through thee abide,
Every outer care that passes
Deepening more the peace inside.

Led by thee, the loving pastor,
Anxious night and weary day,
In the footsteps of his Master

Seeks the sheep that run astray;
Glad to warm, and glad to cherish,

With a faithful tender tongue Cheers the weak ones near to perish, Gently leads the ewes with young.

When our heart is faint, thou warmest,
Justifiest our delight;
Thou our ignorance informest,

And our wisdom shapest right;
Thou in peace dost keep, defendest
In the hour of doubt and strife;
Thou beginnest and thou endest
All that Christians count of life.

Gracious Spirit, Spirit Holy,

Take our spirits unto thee; Fain we would be happy, lowly: Make us as we fain would be! "T is not our own will approves us; If we praise or if we sue,

"T is thine own kind Spirit moves us, For 't is thine to will and do.

THOMAS BURBIDGE.

O LORD, THY WING OUTSPREAD.

The REV. WILLIAM JOHN BLEW is a graduate of Oxford and a clergyman of the Church of England He has written several hymns, and a brochure entitled "Hymns and HymnBooks, with a few Words on Anthems," in which he presents valuable information on the subject of hymnology, and makes suggestions regarding the selection of hymns with reference to the occasion on which they are used. The last verse of the following piece contains an allusion to the tradition that just before the fall of Jerusalem voices were heard in the temple saying, "Let us go hence

O LORD, thy wing outspread,

And us thy flock infold;

Thy broad wing spread, that covered Thy mercy-seat of old:

And o'er our nightly roof,

And round our daily path,

Keep watch and ward, and hold aloof The devil and his wrath.

For thou dost fence our head,

And shield — yea, thou alone The

peasant on his pallet-bed, The prince upon his throne. Make then our heart thine ark,

Whereon thy Mystic Dove

May brood, and lighten it, when dark,
With beams of peace and love;
That dearer far to thee

Than gold or cedar-shrine
The bodies of thy saints may be,
The souls by thee made thine :
So nevermore be stirred

That voice within our heart,

813

COME, HOLY SPIRITE!

Veni, Sancti Spiritus."

"Komm, Heiliger Geist, Herre Gott "

MILES COVERDALE, one of the early translators of the Bible, was born in Yorkshire in 1487, became Bishop of Exeter, and died in London in February, 1568, after having suffered imprisonment for two years on account of his Protestantism. In youth he had been an Augustin monk. Martin Luther was an Augustin monk, and it is an indication of the sympathy of the two men, that one translated the spirit-hymn of the other.

COME, Holy Spirite, most blessed Lorde,
Fulfyl our hearts nowe with thy grace;
And make our myndes of one accorde,
Kyndle them with love in every place.
O Lorde, thou forgevest our trespace.
And callest the folke of every countre
To thy ryght fayth and truste of thy grace.
That they may geve thankes and synge to

thee.

Alleluya, Alleluya!

O holy Lyght, moste principall,

The Worde of Lyfe shewe unto us; And cause us to knowe God over all

For our owne Father moste gracious. Lorde, kepe us from lernyng venymous, That we folowe no masters but Christe. He is the Verite, his Worde sayth thus; Cause us to set in hym our truste. Alleluya, Alleluya!

O holy Fyre, and comforth moste swete, Fyll our hertes with fayth and boldnesse, To abyde by the in colde and hete, Contente to suffre for ryghteousnesse;

O Lord, geve strength to our weaknesse,
And send us helpe every houre,
That we may overcome all wyckednesse,
And brynge this olde Adam under thy power.
Alleluya, Alleluya!

MARTIN LUTHER. Translated by
MILES COVERDALE, 1550

PRAYER TO THE HOLY GHOST.

The first verse of this hymn is attributed to SpeRVOGEL, a German poet of the twelfth century.

THOU holy Spirite, we pray to the,
Strengthe oure faythe and increase it alwaye;
Comforthe oure hertes in adversite
With trewe beleve bothe nyght and daye.
Kirieleyson.

Thou worthy Lyght, that art so cleare,
Teache us Christe Jesu to knowe alone;
That we have never cause to feare
In hym to have redempcyon.

Kirieleyson.

Thou swete Love, graunt us altogether To be unfayned in charite;

That we may all love one another, And of one mynde alwaye to be.

Kirieleyson.

Be thou our Comfortoure in all nede; Make us to feare nether deth nor shame; But in the treuth to be stablyshed, That Sathan put us not to blame.

Kirieleyson.

MARTIN LUTHER. Translated by MILES COVERDALE, 1531.

O HOLY GHOST!

"O Geist des Herrn, nur deine Kraft."

The physiognomist, Lavater, was pastor at Zurich. He was born at that place, Nov. 15, 1741, and died Jan. 2, 1801. He was remarkable for eccentricity, enthusiasm, benevo lence, purity, and piety. In proof of all these qualities, see his very curious and able "Aphorisms."

O HOLY GHOST! thy heavenly dew
The hearts of sinners can renew;
Thou dost within our breasts abide,
And still to holy actions guide.

Through thee the soul is fain to sing
When sorrow's clouds are deepening;
With Jesus Christ thou mak'st us one,
Earnest of heaven, from God's high throne.

Best gift of God, and man's true friend,
Now to my inmost soul descend;
The mind of Jesus Christ impart,

And consecrate to thee my heart.

Doth not the Spirit still descend

And bring the heavenly fire?
Doth not he still thy church extend
And waiting souls inspire?

Come, Holy Ghost! in us arise;
Be this thy mighty hour!
And make thy willing people wise
To know thy day of power!

Pour down thy fire in us to glow,
Thy might in us to dwell;
Again thy works of wonder show,
Thy blessed secrets tell!

Bear us aloft, more glad, more strong,
On thy celestial wing,

And grant us grace to look and long For our returning King.

WHOSE HEART THE LORD OPENED.

ACTS xvi. 14

We cannot see
the wondrous Hand
That makes the budding flower expand;
One sunbeam's kiss, one dewdrop's fall,
May open wide its coronal,

And every folded petal part,

That noon's full tide may reach its heart.

And yet the hand that drops the dew
Is shaded from our finite view;
And he who guides the ray of light
Is hidden from our mortal sight.
We see not, but we own the power
That makes the bud become the flower.

O Lord thy hand alone can part
The shadows that infold man's heart;
Thy Holy Spirit's quickening breath
Can vivify the germ of faith;
Thy word can cause the bud to grow,
Thy touch can make the flower to blow.

To thee our infant flowers we bring,
Our buds, so slow in opening:
Perchance, within the folded cup,
The germ of life is treasured up:

We bring them, Lord, to crave thy aid,
To that dear place where prayer is made.

One gracious drop of heavenly dew
May bring the hidden life to view;
One touch of love the leaves unroll,
And shed truth's noontide o'er the soul;
And thus, by sweet degrees, transmute
The open blossom into fruit..

JANE FOX CREWDSON

HYMN FOR WHITSUNDAY.
BREATH of the Lord, O Spirit blest,
Inspiring Guide, consoling Guest,
Thy perfect gifts and lights to lend,
On mortal heads and hearts descend;
Come to the sluggish sense and mind
As comes the rushing mighty wind.

Come, Promise of the Holy One;
Come, Paraclete of God the Son;
Come like the spring's reviving gale
To furrowed soil or flagging sail;
Or come as first thy presence came,
With fiery tongues of cloven flame.
Spirit of power, come down; draw near,
Spirit of truth and holy fear;

815

This only woe I deprecate,

This only plague, I pray, remove, Nor leave me in my lost estate,

Nor curse me with this want of love.

If yet thou canst my sins forgive,

From now, O Lord, relieve my woes; Into the rest of love receive,

And bless me with the calm repose.

From now, my weary soul release;
Upraise me with thy gracious hand,
And guide into thy perfect peace,
And bring me to the promised land.
CHARLES WESLEY.

1749.

LITANY TO THE HOLY SPIRIT.

IN the hour of my distress,
When temptations me oppress,
And when I my sins confess,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me.

When I lie within my bed,
Sick in heart, and sick in head,
And with doubts discomforted,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me.

When the house doth sigh and weep, And the world is drowned in sleep, Yet mine eyes the watch do keep, Sweet Spirit, comfort me.

When the artless doctor sees No one hope, but of his fees, And his skill runs on the lees, Sweet Spirit, comfort me.

When his potion and his pill,
His or none or little skill,
Meet for nothing but to kill,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me.
When the passing-bell doth toll,
And the furies in a shoal
Come to fright a parting soul,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me.

When the tapers now burn blue,
And the comforters are few,
And that number more than true,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me.

When the priest his last hath prayed,
And I nod to what is said,
'Cause my speech is now decayed,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me.

When God knows I'm tossed about,
Either with despair or doubt,
Yet, before the glass be out,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me.
When the tempter me pursu'th
With the sins of all my youth,
And half damns me with untruth,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me.

When the flames and hellish cries
Fright mine ears and fright mine eyes,
And all terrors me surprise,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me. When the judgment is revealed, And that opened which was sealed; When to thee I have appealed,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me.

ROBERT HERRICK