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DIES IRE.

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FROM THE LATIN OF THOMAS OF CELANO.

AY of vengeance, without | King of majesty tremendous,
By thy saving grace defend us,
Earth shall end in flame Fount of pity, safety send us!

morrow,

and sorrow,

As from saint and seer we

borrow.

Ah! what terror is im

pending

When the Judge is seen
descending,

Holy Jesus, meek, forbearing,

For my sins the death-crown wearing,
Save me in that day despairing.

Worn and weary, thou hast sought me,
By thy cross and passion bought me :
Spare the hope thy labors brought me.

And each secret veil is Righteous Judge of retribution,

rending!

To the throne the trumpet sounding,
Through the sepulchres resounding,
Summons all, with voice astounding.

Death and Nature, 'mazed, are quaking,
When, the grave's long slumber breaking,
Man to judgment is awaking.

On the written volume's pages
Life is shown in all its stages-
Judgment-record of past ages!

Sits the Judge, the raised arraigning,
Darkest mysteries explaining,
Nothing unavenged remaining.

What shall I, then, say, unfriended,
By no advocate attended,
When the just are scarce defended?

Give, oh, give me absolution.
Ere the day of dissolution.

As a guilty culprit groaning,
Flushed my face, my errors owning,
Hear, O God, my spirit's moaning!

Thou to Mary gavst remission,
Heardst the dying thief's petition,
Badst me hope in my contrition.

In my prayers no grace discerning,
Yet, on me thy favor turning,
Save my soul from endless burning.

Give me, when thy sheep confiding
Thou art from the goats dividing,
On thy right a place abiding.

When the wicked are confounded
And by bitter flames surrounded,
Be my joyful pardon sounded.

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EUTHANASY.

"Hawthorne had often expressed the hope that he might die in his sleep and unawares. And it was according to his wish that the end came to him."Biography of Hawthorne.

NOT through the gate of Pain

AF

Would I pass into heaven

Not with its earthly stain,

And brow all anguish-riven.

Friend, in that solemn hour,

Calm thou the senses' riot With some sweet draught of power, And let me pass in quiet.

Ah! happy he who lies

All calmly down at even,
And sees the morning rise
Upon the hills of heaven.
Blessed is sudden death

When man has closed his story
And longs for fuller breath
Upon the heights of glory.

O Father, in that hour,

Though hand and brain betray me, Uphold me with thy power,

Nor let the change dismay me.

Strengthen me with thy might

To tread Death's darksome portal

Until I see heaven's light

Glow on the shores immortal.

HENRY PETERSON.

AFFLICTION.

FFLICTION is the wholesome soil of virtue

Where patience, honor, sweet humanity, Calm fortitude, take root and strongly flour

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CEDMON.

EDMON is considered the earliest of the English poets. He was a man sprung from the people, and at one time in his life was a mere cowherd. He was, however, addressed one night by a stranger, as he thought, in his sleep, and asked to sing a song. He replied that he could not, when the stranger urged that he could, and that he could sing the "Creation." Cadmon then, wondering at himself, began to sing most beautiful verses. He soon afterward awoke, and went immediately to the reeve of Whitby, who, wise and good man that he was, took him to the abbey and told the wondrous story to the abbess Hilda. He recounted the last night's adventure and repeated the verses, which at once obtained the admiration of the persons present. They then explained to him other parts of Holy Scripture, whereupon he went home and produced a beautiful poem. At the request of the abbess he became a monk, and continued to write poems founded on sacred history.

There is a striking resemblance between Cadmon's account of "The Fall of Man," etc., and portions of Milton's "Paradise Lost." Conybeare, in his Illustrations of Anglo-Saxon Poetry, says: "The pride, rebellion and punishment of Satan and his princes have a resemblance to Milton so remarkable that most of this portion might be almost literally translated by a cento

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His thought about his heart,
Hot was without him
His dire punishment,
Then spake he the words:
"This narrow place is most unlike

That other that we ere knew,
High in heaven's kingdom,
Which my Master bestowed on me,
Though we it, for the All-powerful,
May not possess,

Must cede our realm.

Yet hath he not done rightly,
That he hath struck us down
To the fiery abyss
Of the hot hell,

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And might one season

Be without,

Be one winter's space,

Then with this host I

But around me lie
Iron bonds;

Presseth this cord of chain:

I am powerless!

Me have so hard
The clasps of hell,
So firmly grasped !
Here is a vast fire
Above and underneath.
Never did I see

A loathier landskip;

The flame abateth not;

Hot over hell.

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But we now suffer chastisement in hell,
Which is darkness and heat-
Grim, bottomless;

God hath us himself

Swept into these swart mists,

Thus he cannot us accuse of any sin

That we against him in the land framed evil;
Yet hath he deprived us of the light,
Cast us into the greatest of all torments :
We may not for this execute vengeance,
Reward him with aught of hostility,
Because he hath bereft us of the light.
He hath now devised a world
Where he hath wrought man
After his own likeness,
With whom he will repeople
The kingdom of heaven with

pure

Therefore must we strive zealously That we on Adam, if we ever may,

souls ;

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