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Thou art our only Lord !
Healer of strife!
And give us life.
Thou art Wisdom's High Priest, Thou hast prepared the feast
Of perfect love. When racked with mortal pain, None calls on Thee in vain, Help Thou dost not disdain
Help from above.
Ever be thus our Guide,
Our staff and song.
Make our faith strong.
So now, and till we die,
And joyful sing;
Babes and the gladsome throng
HE great, august, Immortal King,
Th’Eternal Potentate, I sing!
* The above hymn, though found in the works of Clemens Alexandrinus, is believed to have been of earlier date than his time, and may have been the hymn which Pliny speaks of in his letter to the Emperor Trajan, A.D. 104, as being sung “ Christo, quafi Deo, fecum invicem.”
+ A Platonist, converted to Christianity in the 3rd century.
F veiled our eyes, their piercing fight
With some celestial impulse glow, When fleeing this domain of life, They tread the pure and hallowed way Up to their Father's realm of day. How bleft the soul, which having fled The toils that o'er its path were spread, At one light bound from matter springs, And seeks its God on Rapture's wings! How blest is he, who, after all The ills and changes that befall, Hath trod the intellectual way, And viewed where beams of glory play, The fount of light, the throne of day! Let every with and thought aspire, On wings of love, on wings of fire; And O may resolution nerve Thy breast, untaught to yield or swerve. Then will thy Heavenly Parent stand, And proffer, with paternal hand, To lead thee to a kindred band.
An orb of fire will blaze before Thee,
Awake, my soul, and quaff thy fill, Drink freely of that fountain-rill, Whose wave impregned with blessing flows, The Lethe of terrestrial woesBend lowly at thy Father's shrine, To earth the cares of earth resign, And rise to life and joy divine; To dwell in union with thy God; perchance A God thyself to move in Heaven's eternal dance !
JEDEEMER of the Nations, come!
earth, For so shall God in Christ have birth!
Thou comest from Thy kingly Throne,
Thou stoopeft once to suffer here,
One with the Father ! Prince of might !
How bright Thy lowly manger beams !
ST. AMBROSE, 4th Cent.
AKER of all, the Lord,
And Ruler of the height,
Soft slumbers o'er the night,