Grudge not thou thine eyes to hide

On this breast that aches for thee : Patient, kneeling, here abide

Till th' absolving Voice is free.

I from thy baptismal hour

Yearn for thee, hard heart and dry : Seek my penitential bower,

In the dust beside me lie.



“ Whose sins ye forgive, they are forgiven."

LIVE ever in my heart, sweet awful hour,

When prostrate in my sin and shame I lay, And heard the absolving accents fall with power,

As soft, as keen, as lambent lightnings play.

And sure with lightning glance they seem'd to thrill, (O may the dream prove true !) and search and

burn Each foul dark corner of my lawless will.

What if the Spirit griev'd did then return ?

O fear, O joy to think !-and what if yet,

In some far moment of eternity, The lore of evil I may quite forget,

And with the pure in heart my portion be ?

Live in my heart, dread blissful hope, to tame

The haughty brow, to curb the unchastened eye, And shape to deeds of good each wavering aim ;

O teach me some true penance ere I die !



“ Evening, and morning, and at noonday will I pray."

Down, slothful heart ! how darest thou say,

“ Call not so oft to pray ?" Behold, the Lord's own bounteous showers

Keep their appointed hours. The forenoon saw the Spirit first On orphan'd Saints in glory burst ;

At noontide hour Saint Peter saw The sheet let down, heavenward all earth to draw ; At eventide, when good Cornelius kneeld Upon his fasting day, an Angel shone revealed.

Untired is He in mercy's task,

Then tire not thou to ask. He says not, “ Yesterday I gave,

Wilt thou for ever crave ?”

He every moment waits to give,
Watch thou unwearied to receive.

Thine Hours of prayer, upon the Cross
To Him were hours of woe and shame and loss ;
Scourging at morn ; at noon, pierced hands and feet ;
At eve, fierce pains of death, for thee He counted


The blue sky o'er the green earth bends,

All night the dew descends :

earth to the blue heaven's ray
Its bosom spreads all day.
Earth answers heaven : the holy race
Should answer His unfailing grace.

Then smile, low world, in spite or scorn,
We to our God will kneel ere prime of morn ;
The third, the sixth, the ninth-each Passion hour,
We with high praise will keep, as He with gifts of




“ Whatsoever is born of God overcometh the world : and this is the victory that overcometh the world, even our faith."

Many the banners bright and fair,

Uplifted in the gleaming sky,
When Faith would show this lower air

The token of her victory.

The heaven-enlightened eye and mind,

By meek confession purified,
Gazes on high, nor fails to find

Which way the signs celestial guide.

One bodies forth a Virgin form,

Holding aloft a Cross of might,
And watching, how through cloud and storm

Its head is lost in deepening light.

Another dreams, by night and day,

Of a calm Prophet's face, intent
To hear what God the Lord shall say,

Ere the dread tones be gone and spent.

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