The Antiphon O save us then, Since Thou wouldst needs be thus A Saviour, and at such a rate,1 for us; We now will own no shorter wish, nor name a narrower word; Thy Blood bids us be bold, Thy Wounds give us fair hold, Thy Cross, Thy Nature, and Thy Name Advance our claim, And cry with one accord, Save them, O save them, Lord! THE RECOMMENDATION These Hours, and that which hovers o'er my end, Into Thy hands and heart, Lord, I commend. Take both to Thine account, that I and mine, That as I dedicate my devoutest breath So from His living, and life-giving death, My dying life may draw a new and never fleeting breath. 1 Terrible payment, price. VEXILLA REGIS THE HYMN OF THE HOLY CROSS I LOOK up, languishing soul! Lo, where the fair Of love to Him, Who on this painful Tree 1 II Lo, how the streams of life, from that full nest, Of water wedding blood. With these He wash'd thy stain, transferr'd thy smart, And took it home to His own Heart. III But though great Love, greedy of such sad gain, Usurp'd the portion of thy pain, And from the nails and spear Turn'd the steel point of fear : Their use is changed, not lost; and now they move Not stings of wrath, but wounds of love. 1 Cross. IV Tall Tree of life! thy truth makes good Struck loud his faithful string: It was thy wood he meant should make the throne For a more than Solomon. V Large throne of Love, royally spread With purple of too rich a red, Thy crime is too much duty, Thy burthen too much beauty. Glorious or grievous more? thus to make good Thy costly excellence with thy King's own blood. VI Even balance of both worlds; our world of sin, Soon as the right-hand scale rejoiced to prove VII Hail, our alone hope! let thy fair head shoot Thus graft ourselves on thee, Grow thou and they. And be thy fair increase Live, O for ever live and reign The Lamb Whom His own love hath slain ; And let Thy lost sheep live to inherit That kingdom which this Holy Cross did merit. Amen. NO MAN WAS ABLE TO ANSWER HIM NEITHER DURST ANY MAN FROM THAT DAY ASK HIM ANY MORE QUESTIONS.- —MATT. xxii. 46. MIDST all the dark and knotty snares, Black wit or malice can or dares, Thy glorious wisdom breaks the nets, Of Thy renown, and their own shame, when they 'Twas time to hold their peace 1 Praise. While they speak nothing, they proclaim ON THE WOUNDS OF OUR THESE wakeful wounds of Thine! Be they mouths, or be they eyne,1 Lo! a mouth, whose full-bloom'd lips O Thou,2 that on this foot hast laid This foot hath got a mouth and lips, The difference only this appears, 2 Possibly St. Mary Magdalene. |