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THE HOLY EUCHARIST.

THE HOLY EUCHARIST.

HONEY in the lion's mouth,
Emblem mystical, divine,

How the sweet and strong combine;
Cloven rock for Israel's drouth;
Treasure-house of golden grain,
By our Joseph laid in store,
In his brethren's famine sore
Freely to dispense again;

Dew on Gideon's snowy fleece;
Well from bitter changed to sweet;

Shew-bread laid in order meet,

Bread whose cost doth ne'er increase,

Though no rain in April fall;
Horeb's manna, freely given,

Showered in white dew from heaven,

Marvellous, angelical;

Weightiest bunch of Canaan's vine;

Cake to strengthen and sustain

Through long days of desert pain;

Salem's monarch's bread and wine;

Thou the antidote shalt be

Of my sickness and my sin,

Consolation, medicine,

Life and Sacrament to me.

PEDRO CALDERON DE LA BARCA. Translated
by R. C TRENCH, D. D.

BEFORE THE SACRAMENT.

REGINALD HEBER, the saintly Bishop of Calcutta, was born at Malpas, Cheshire, April 21, 1783, and entered Brasenose College in his seventeenth year. He was consecrated bishop in 1826, and died at Trichinopoly, India, April 3, 1826.

BREAD of the world in mercy broken,
Wine of the soul in mercy shed,
By whom the words of life were spoken,
And in whose death our sins are dead:

Look on the heart by sorrow broken,
Look on the tears by sinners shed,

And be thy feast to us the token
That by thy grace our souls are fed.

1820

REGINALD HEBER.

OUR DAILY BREAD.

GIVE us our daily bread,

O God, the bread of strength!
For we have learnt to know
How weak we are at length.
As children we are weak,

As children must be fed ;
Give us thy grace, O Lord,
To be our daily bread.

Give us our daily bread,

The bitter bread of grief.
We sought earth's poisoned feasts
For pleasure and relief;
We sought her deadly fruits,

But now, O God, instead,
We ask thy healing grief

To be our daily bread.

Give us our daily bread

To cheer our fainting soul;

The feast of comfort, Lord,

And peace, to make us whole :
For we are sick of tears,

The useless tears we shed;
Now give us comfort, Lord,
To be our daily bread.
Give us our daily bread,

The bread of angels, Lord,
By us, so many times,

Broken, betrayed, adored:
His body and his blood;

The feast that Jesus spread:
Give him our life, our all-
To be our daily bread!

ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER.

THE FEAST.

"O Esca viatorum."

This hymn has been ascribed to Thomas Aquinas, but on unsatisfactory grounds.

O BREAD to pilgrims given,

O Food that angels eat,

O Manna sent from heaven,

For heaven-born natures meet:

Give us, for thee long pining,

To eat till richly filled;

Till, earth's delights resigning,

Our every wish is stilled.

O Water, life bestowing,

From out the Saviour's heart,

A fountain purely flowing,

A fount of love thou art: Oh, let us, freely tasting,

Our burning thirst assuage;
Thy sweetness, never wasting,
Avails from age to age.

Jesus, this feast receiving,
We thee unseen adore;

Thy faithful word believing,

We take, and doubt no more: Give us, thou true and loving,

On earth to live in thee;

Then, death the veil removing,
Thy glorious face to see.

From the Latin of an unknown mediæval author.
Translated by RAY PALMER, 1858.

HYMN OF THE LAST SUPPER.

JOHN PIERPONT was born at Litchfield, Conn, April 6, 1785, and died at Medford, Mass., Aug. 27, 1866. He graduated from the Divinity School at Cambridge in 1818, with Jared Sparks, John G. Palfrey, and others. His "Airs of Palestine" was published in 1816, and his school readingbooks after he had become a settled pastor in Boston. In 1862 he was employed at Washington in indexing the decisions of the Treasury Department, a work that he completed before his death. These lines are based on the following verse of Scripture: "And when they had sung a hymn, they went out into the Mount of Olives "- MATT. xxvi. 30. THE winds are hushed; the peaceful moon Looks down on, Zion's hill; The city sleeps; 't is night's calm noon, And all the streets are still.

Save when, along the shaded walks,
We hear the watchman's call,
Or the guard's footsteps. as he stalks
In moonlight on the wall.

How soft, how holy is this light!
And hark! a mournful song,
As gentle as these dews of night,
Floats on the air along.

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Given for us, for us descending

Of a virgin to proceed,

Man with man in converse blending
Scattered he the gospel seed:
Till his sojourn drew to ending,

Which he closed in wondrous deed.

At the last Great Supper seated,
Circled by his brethren's band,
All the law required, completed

In the meat its statutes planned, To the Twelve himself he meted

For their food with his own hand.

Word made flesh, by word he truly

Makes true bread his flesh to be:
Wine Christ's blood becometh newly;
And if senses fail to see
Faith alone the true heart duly
Strengthens for the mystery.

Such a sacrament, inclining,
Worship we with reverent awe :
Ancient rites their place resigning
To a new and nobler law:
Faith her supplement assigning

To make good the sense's flaw.

Honor, laud, and praise addressing
To the Father and the Son,
Might ascribe we, virtue, blessing,
And eternal benison :

Holy Ghost, from both progressing,
Equal laud to thee be done!

ST. THOMAS AQUINAS. Translated by
JOHN MASON NEALE.

PRAISE TO THE LAMB.

"Ad regias Agni dapes."

ROBERT CAMPBELL, who died in 1868, was an advocate of Edinburgh. He went from the Scottish Episcopal Church to that of Rome, and in 1864 published a vigorous pamphlet on behalf of the orphans of his adopted church in Scotland. Some of his hymns are included in "Hymns Ancient and Modern."

AT the Lamb's high feast we sing
Praise to our victorious King,
Who hath washed us in the tide
Flowing from his pierced side;
Praise we him, whose love divine
Gives his sacred blood for wine,
Gives his body for the feast,
Christ the victim, Christ the priest.

Where the paschal blood is poured,
Death's dark angel sheathes his sword;

Israel's hosts triumphant go

Through the wave that drowns the foe. Praise we Christ, whose blood was shed, Paschal victim, paschal bread;

With sincerity and love

Eat we manna from above.

Mighty Victim from the sky,

Hell's fierce powers beneath thee lie;
Thou hast conquered in the fight,
Thou hast brought us life and light.
Now no more can death appall,
Now no more the grave enthrall;
Thou hast opened paradise,
And in thee thy saints shall rise.

Hymns of glory and of praise,
Risen Lord, to thee we raise;
Holy Father, praise to thee,
With the Spirit, ever be. Amen.

Translated from the Roman Breviary by
ROBERT CAMPBELL, 1850

THIS DO IN REMEMBRANCE OF ME.

ACCORDING to thy gracious word,
In meek humility,
This will I do, my dying Lord, —
I will remember thee.

Thy body, broken for my sake, My bread from heaven shall be; Thy testamental cup I take,

And thus remember thee.

Gethsemane can I forget?

Or there thy conflict see, Thine agony and bloody sweat, And not remember thee?

When to the cross I turn mine eyes,
And rest on Calvary,

O Lamb of God, my sacrifice!
I must remember thee:

Remember thee, and all thy pains,

And all thy love to me;

Yea, while a breath, a pulse remains, Will I remember thee.

And when these failing lips grow dumb, And mind and memory flee,

When thou shalt in thy kingdom come, Jesus, remember me!

JAMES MONTGOMERY.

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