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THE MASS.

WITH naked foot, and sackcloth vest, And arms infolded on his breast,

Did every pilgrim go;

The standers-by might hear uneath, Footstep, or voice, or high-drawn breath,

Through all the lengthened row: No lordly look, nor martial stride, Gone was their glory, sunk their pride, Forgotten their renown; Silent and slow, like ghosts, they glide To the high altar's hallowed side,

And there they knelt them down: Above the suppliant chieftains wave The banners of departed brave; Beneath the lettered stones were laid The ashes of their fathers dead; From many a garnished niche around, Stern saints and tortured martyrs frowned.

And slow up the dim aisle afar,
With sable cowl and scapular,
And snow-white stoles, in order due,
The holy Fathers, two and two,

In long procession came:
Taper, and host, and book they bare,
And holy banner, flourished fair

With the Redeemer's name. Above the prostrate pilgrim band The mitred Abbot stretched his hand, And blessed them as they kneeled; With holy cross he signed them all, And prayed they might be sage in hall, And fortunate in field.

Then mass was sung, and prayers

were said,

And solemn requiem for the dead;
And bells tolled out their mighty peal,
For the departed spirit's weal;
And ever in the office close
The hymn of intercession rose;
And far the echoing aisles prolong
The awful burden of the song,

DIES IRE, DIES ILLA

SOLVET SÆCLUM IN FAVILLA;
While the pealing organ rung;

Were it meet with sacred strain
To close my lay, so light and vain,
Thus the holy Fathers sung:-

HYMN FOR THE DEAD.

That day of wrath, that dreadful day, When heaven and earth shall pass away,

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