“I write unto you, young men, because ye have overcome the Wicked One."

CHRISTIAN child, whoe'er thou be,

Purer oil than David knew,
Mingling with baptismal dew,

Heaven hath dropped on thee.

Strength is given thee, watch to keep

O’er the lamb He bought so dear,
Thine own soul to watch in fear :-

Sleep no faithless sleep.

When the Lion and the Bear,

Childish Pride and childish Wrath,
Lay athwart thy morning path,

Thou didst win by prayer.

Now a mightier foe is nigh ;

Holy hands for a new strife
Thee have stored with ampler life :

Set thine heart on high.

Not with sword and shield and lance, But with charm-words from our Book, Gems from our baptismal Brook,

Meet his stern advance.

He through every gate of sense,

Eye and ear, taste, touch, and smell,
Fain would hurl the shafts of hell :

Seek thou strong defence.

Guard in time those portals five

With the smooth stones from the Fount,
With the Law from God's own Mount :

So thy war shall thrive.

Keep thy staff, the Cross, in hand :

Thou shalt see the giant foe
By the word of Faith laid low,

O'er him conquering stand.

Mark and use the trial-hour :

When his whispers nearest sound,
Be thou then most faithful found,

Then tread down his power.

Stripling though thou be, and frail,

Thy right arm shall wield his sword, Wield, and take his head abhorred,

Christ in thee prevail.



“Make me thereof a little cake first, and bring it unto me, and after make for thee and for thy son.'

Lo, cast at random on the wild sea sand

A child low wailing lies :
Around, with eye forlorn and feeble hand,

Scarce heeding its faint cries,
The widowed mother in the wilderness
Gathers dry boughs, their last sad meal to dress.


But who is this that comes with mantle rude

And vigil-wasted air, Who to the famished cries, Come, give me food,

I with thy child would share ?" She bounteous gives : but hard he seems of hear Who of such scanty store would crave a part.

Haply the child his little hand holds forth,

That all his own may be.-
Nay, simple one, thy mother's faith is worth

Healing and life to thee.
That handful given, for years ensures thee bread :
That drop of oil shall raise thee from the dead.

For in yon haggard form He begs unseen,

To Whom for life we kneel :
One little cake He asks with lowly mien,

Who blesses every meal.
Lavish for Him, ye poor, your children's store,
So shall your cruse for many a day run o'er.

And thou, dear child, though hungering, give glad

To Jesus in His need :
So thy blest mother at the awful day
Thy name in Heaven


So by His touch for ever may'st thou live,
Who asks our alms, and lends a heart to give.


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