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11.

WHITE APPAREL.

VIII. WHITE UPON THE ALTAR.

"He bought fine linen, and took Him down, and wrapped Him in the linen."

O LORD, give gracious humbleness of heart,
And chaste and grave imaginings, in awe
Veiled evermore, that as we nearer draw
To thy tremendous Altar, or impart
Unto thy little ones the skill and art
Of holy things, and the mysterious law
Whereby Faith sees whate'er Apostles saw,
No ill may glance or eye or mind athwart.
So unreproved may we to babes declare
The secret of the Altar's snow-white pall,
And of the linen garment, bright and fair,
Spread o'er the glorious Sacrifice when all
Have tasted. 'Tis as JESUS' winding sheet,
And theirs, who die clasping His sacred Feet.

11.

WHITE APPAREL.

IX. THE WINDING SHEET.

"Not for that we would be unclothed, but clothed upon."

PURE is the glory of the Chrisom vest ;

Joyous the Sunday-robe; all hope and might The heavenly gleam, when dovelike wings alight On the twice-sealed brow; benignly rest

The smiles of Angels on the mitred crest

And flowing skirt of Priests, whose stainless white
The heart belies not; or on striplings bright,
Glancing like spirits through the region blest;
Or on glad bridal train, around the shrine
Gathered with starlike and unchanging gleam;
But most where dimly robes of penance shine.
Yet all is vain, if the last glory fail,

If with the cold pale shroud the Font's pure beam
Blend not, and o'er all hues of death prevail.

12.

REDBREAST IN CHURCH.

"The creature itself shall be delivered from the bondage of corruption into the glorious liberty of the children of God."

WHAT is this sudden thrill

Of notes so sweet and keen?

The organ's waves of sound are still

Within the awful screen.

In prayer are bowed both head and knee,
And yet unbidden rings and free

A chant from one unseen.

A winged chorister

From his arched nook on high

Makes in the calm a gladsome stir,

His proper melody:

A Redbreast blithe, his evening hymn
Trying amid the shadows dim,

Attracts both ear and eye.

Nor time nor tune are there,

Yet sounds the unruly joy

Meet for the hour, nor spoils the prayer Even of the gazing boy.

It seems to say, Not man alone

Lives in the shade of JESUS' Throne,

And shares the Saints' employ.

The Angels out of sight

Worship with us, we know ;

And who can say what pure warm light

The unreasoning tribes below

May by their kindly wafting feel?

What gleams to guide, what balms to heal

From Christ on earth may flow?

Bird, beast, and insect hail

Warm sun and fragrant shower. The sheep in Bethlehem's thymy dale,

In Blessed Mary's bower

The ox and ass-to them was given

To see our Lord: the Light of Heaven

Fell on them in that hour.

And since our Lord she bare

In triumph to His place,

One patient beast hath seemed to wear
The mark of His high grace,

His token to dumb creatures, freed
From slavery and unholy deed,

From cruel tasks and base :

Freed by the mighty Cross,

And pure. O mark it, all

Who bear that sign! O fear and loss,
Should ye again enthrall

To woe and wrong His creatures, sealed
For blessing, aid to earn and yield,

As ere our father's fall!

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