The Seven Great Hymns of the Mediaeval Church

A. D. F. Randolph, 1868 - 154 pages
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Page 15 - There grief is turned to pleasure, Such pleasure, as below No human voice can utter, No human heart can know. And now we fight the battle, But then shall wear the crown Of full and everlasting And passionless renown.
Page 23 - All jubilant with song, And bright with many an angel And all the martyr throng. The Prince is ever in them, The daylight is serene ; The pastures of the blessed Are decked in glorious sheen. 3 There is the throne of David; And there, from care released, The song of them that triumph, The shout of them that feast; And they who with their Leader Have conquered in the fight, For ever and for ever Are clad in robes of white.
Page 104 - Jesum in tormentis ^ et flagellis subditum; vidit suum dulcem natum moriendo desolatum dum emisit spiritum. eia, mater, fons amoris, me sentire vim doloris fac ut tecum lugeam; fac ut ardeat cor meum in amando Christum Deum, ut sibi complaceam.
Page 21 - Thou hast no shore, fair ocean ! Thou hast no time, bright day ! Dear fountain of refreshment To pilgrims far away ! Upon the Rock of Ages They raise Thy holy tower; Thine is the victor's laurel, And Thine the golden dower.
Page 11 - Strive, man, to win that glory; Toil, man, to gain that light; Send hope before to grasp it, Till hope be lost in sight.
Page 19 - For thee, O dear, dear country, Mine eyes their vigils keep ; For very love, beholding Thy happy name, they weep. The mention of thy glory Is unction to the breast, And medicine in sickness, And love, and life, and rest.
Page 21 - Thou feel'st in mystic rapture, O Bride that know'st no guile, The Prince's sweetest kisses, The Prince's loveliest smile : Unfading lilies, bracelets Of living pearl thine own : The Lamb is ever near thee, The Bridegroom thine alone : The Crown is He to guerdon, The Buckler to protect, And He Himself the Mansion, And He the Architect.
Page 22 - The Life where Death is not. And all thine endless leisure In sweetest accents sings, The ill that was thy merit, — The wealth that is thy King's...
Page 7 - The world is very evil, The times are waxing late; Be sober and keep vigil, The Judge is at the gate, — The Judge that comes in mercy, The Judge that comes with might, To terminate the evil, To diadem the right.
Page 52 - Such was Roscommon, not more learn'd than good, With manners generous as his noble blood; To him the wit of Greece and Rome was known, And every author's merit, but his own. Such late was Walsh...

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