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nothing, beyond the fact of his existence, is known, and doing this sixty or seventy different times, the verbiage, the bombast, the trappings with which Scriptural simplicity is elevated to the taste of a corrupt Court, are each and all scarcely to be paralleled. He is by far the most prolific of the hymn writers.

SUNDAY OF THE PRODIGAL SON.

(SEPTUAGESIMA.)

The Sunday before Septuagesima, and Septuagesima itself once, respectively, in the Greek Church, the Sunday of the Pharisee and Publican,-and the Sunday of the Prodigal Son,-those parables forming the gospel for the day, and serving for the keynote to the offices. The following Troparia are from the Canon at Lauds on Septuagesima. (Ode VI. and Ode VIII. Trop. 2, 3.

βυθὸς ἁμαρτημάτων.

The abyss of many a former sin
Encloses me, and bars me in:
Like billows my transgressions roll:
Be Thou the Pilot of my soul:
And to Salvation's harbour bring,

Thou Saviour and Thou glorious King!

My Father's heritage abused,
Wasted by lust, by sin misused;

To shame and want and misery brought
The slave to many a fruitless thought,
I cry to Thee, Who lovest men,
O pity and receive again!

In hunger now,-no more possessed
Of that my portion bright and blest,
The exile and the alien see

Who yet would fain return to Thee!
And save me, LORD, who seek to raise
To Thy dear love the hymn of praise!

With that blest thief my prayer I make,
Remember for Thy mercy's sake!
With that poor publican I cry,
Be merciful, O GOD most High!
With that lost Prodigal I fain

Back to my home would turn again!

Mourn, mourn, my soul, with earnest care,
And raise to CHRIST the contrite prayer:-
O Thou, Who freely wast made poor,
My sorrows and my sins to cure,
Me, poor of all good works, embrace,
Enriching with Thy boundless grace!

K

THE PILGRIMS OF JESUS.

This is merely a Cento from the Canon on SS.
Chrysanthus and Daria (March 19.)

O happy band of pilgrims,
If onward ye will tread
With JESUS as your Fellow
To JESUS as your Head!

O happy, if ye labour

AS JESUS did for men:

O happy, if ye hunger

As JESUS hunger'd then!

The Cross that JESUS carried
He carried as your due:
The Crown that JESUS weareth

He weareth it for you.

The Faith by which ye see Him,

The Hope, in which ye yearn, The Love that through all troubles To Him alone will turn,

What are they, but vaunt-couriers

To lead you to His Sight? What are they, save the effluence Of Uncreated Light?

The trials that beset you,
The sorrows ye endure,
The manifold temptations

That Death alone can cure,

What are they, but His jewels
Of right celestial worth?
What are they but the ladder
Set up to Heav'n on earth?

O happy band of pilgrims,

Look upward to the skies ;Where such a light affliction Shall win you such a prize!

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