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FOR GOOD FRIDAY.

By the cross unheeded sighing,
Where her holiest Son hung dying,

The afflicted Mother stood.

Through her heart, with sorrows riven, Sharp the destined sword was driven,

Sharp beyond her worst forebode.

Blest of women—with what anguish
Did her soul within her languish,

Mother of the Holiest One!

How she watched, in bitterest moaning, Fainting, sickening, trembling, groaning,

All the tortures of her Son!

Lives there one, who, coldly gazing,
Tearless eyes could stand upraising,

From the crowd that mocks below,

To the cross, where, broken-hearted,
From the Son the Mother parted,

Clings and weeps his speechless woe ?

Wounded for the world's transgression, Murdered to make intercession,

Scourged by those he came to save,

That sweet Son, by most forsaken,
She still watched in death-throes shaken,

Till his spirit up he gave. .

Eja Christe,* fons amoris,
Me sentire vim doloris

Fac, ut tecum lugeam :

Sancte Pater, istud agas
Crucifixi fige plagas

Cordi meo validè.

Tui nati vulnerati,
Tam dignati pro me pati,

Pænas mecum divide.

Fac me juxta crucem flere,
Crucifixo condolere,

Donec ego vixero.

Flens cum flente Matre stare,
Me cum illâ sociare

In planctu desidero.

Fac ut portem Christi mortem,
Passionis fac consortem,

Et plagas recolere.

Flammis ne urar succensus
Per te, Jesu, sim defensus

In die judicii.

Quando corpus morietur,
Fac ut animæ donetur
Paradisi gloria.

ANCIENT ECCLESIASTICAL HYMN.

* It is hoped that no one will object to the slight alterations by which the remainder of this hymn is transferred to the true object of worship.

Jesus, fountain of compassion,
By thy pangs, oh! deign to fashion

This vile heart to mourn with thee.

Holy Father, hear my crying,
Bid me watch my Saviour's dying,

Bid me feel his agony.

Since for me, by foes surrounded,
Thine eternal Son hung wounded,

In his wounds some part I crave.

Let me by his cross lie weeping,
Still with him sad vigil keeping,

Let me in her anguish shar

There, by his blest Mother bending, Tears with tears so holy blending,

On my pathway to the grave.

Make me, each ill lust denying,
Inly bear my Saviour's dying-

Of his stripes some impress wear.

Jesu! from the death eternal,
From the fiends and flames infernal,

Save me in the day of doom ;

When the worms this flesh inherit,
Call to rest my wearied spirit-

Rest and light from toil and gloom.

ENGLISH POETRY.

PART THE FOURTH.

ECCLESIASTICAL CHARACTERS OF

ENGLAND,

IN THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY.

THER was also a Nonne, a Prioresse, That of hire smiling was full simple and coy; Hire gretest othe n'as but by Seint Eloy; And she was cleped' Madame Eglantine. Ful wel she sange the service devine, Entuned in hire nose ful swetely; And Frenche she spake ful fayre and fetisly, After the schole of Stratford attè Bowe, For Frenche of Paris was to hire unknowe. At metè was she wel ytaughte withalle ; She lette no morsel from her lippès fall, Ne wette hire fingres in hire sauce depe. Wel coude she carie a morsel, and wel kepe, Thattè no drope ne fell upon hire brest. In curtesie was sette ful moche hire lest.3 Hire over lippè wiped she so clene, That in hire cuppe was no ferthing* sene Of gresè, when she dronken hadde hire draught. Ful semely after her mete she raught.”

1 Called.

2 Neatly.

3 Her pleasure.

4 Smallest spot.

5 Rose.

5

And sikerly she was of grete disport,
And ful plèsant, and amiable of port,
And peined' hire to contrefeten chere
Of court, and ben estatelich of manère,
And to ben holden digne of reverence.

But for to speken of hire conscience,
She was so charitable and so piteous,
She woldè wepe if that she saw a mous
Caughte in a trappe, if it were ded or bledde.
Of smalè houndès hadde she, that she fedde
With rosted flesh, and milk, and wastel brede.
But sore wept she if on of hem were dede,
Or if men smote it with a yerde smert,
And all was conscience and tendre herte.

Ful semely hire wimple ypinched was; Hire nose tretis ;' hire eyen grey as glass; Hire mouth ful smale, and therto soft and red ; But sikerly she hadde a fayre forehed. It was almost a spannè brode I trowe; For hardily she was not undergrowe.

Ful fetise was hire cloke, as I was ware. Of smale corall about hire arm she bare A pair of bedès, gauded all with grene; And thereen heng a broche of gold ful shene, On whiche was first ywritten a crouned A, And after. Amor vincit omnia. Another Nonne also with hire hadde she, That was hire chapelleine, and Preestès thre.

A Monk ther was, a fayre for the maistrie, An outrider, that loved venerie;' A manly man, to ben an abbot able. Ful many a deintè hors hadde he in stable: And whan he rode, men might his bridel here Gingèling in a whistling wind as clere,

1 Took pains. 6 straight.

2 To imitate. 3 Worthy.

4 Stick. 7 Of low stature.

8 Neat.

5 Smartly, adv. 9 Hunting.

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