New mansion of new people,

Whom God's own love and light Promote, increase, make holy, Identify, unite.

Thou City of the Angels!

Thou City of the Lord!

Whose everlasting music

Is the glorious decachord!1

And there the band of prophets
United praise ascribes,

And there the twelve-fold chorus

Of Israel's ransomed tribes : The lily-beds of virgins,

The roses' martyr-glow,
The cohort of the Fathers
Who kept the faith below.

And there the Sole-begotten
Is Lord in regal state;
He. Judah's mystic Lion,

He, Lamb immaculate.

1 Decachord. With reference to the mystical explanation, which, seeing in the number ten a type of perfection, understands the "instrument of teu strings" of the perfect harmony of heaven.

O fields that know no sorrow!

O state that fears no strife!

O princely bowers! O land of flowers! O realm and home of life!

Jerusalem, exulting

On that securest shore,

I hope thee, wish thee, sing thee,
And love thee evermore !
I ask not for my merit :

I seek not to deny
My merit is destruction,
A child of wrath am I :
But yet with faith I venture
And hope upon my way;
For those perennial guerdons
I labor night and day.

The best and dearest Father

Who made me and who saved, Bore with me in defilement,

And from defilement laved: When in his strength I struggle, For very joy I leap, When in my sin I totter,

I weep, or try to weep: But grace, sweet grace celestial, Shall all its love display, And David's Royal Fountain Purge every sin away.

O mine, my golden Syon!
O lovelier far than gold!
With laurel-girt battalions,

And safe, victorious fold:
O sweet and blessed country,
Shall I ever see thy face?
O sweet and blessed country,
Shall I ever win thy grace?
I have the hope within me
To comfort and to bless!
Shall I ever win the prize itself?
Oh, tell me, tell me, Yes!

Exult, O dust and ashes!

The Lord shall be thy part: His only, his forever,

Thou shalt be, and thou art!

Exult, O dust and ashes!

The Lord shall be thy part:
His only, his forever,

Thou shalt be, and thou art!
ST. BERNARD of Cluny. Translated
by JOHN MASON NEALE, 1851.

The grand hymn known as "O Mother dear. Jerusalem," 66 Jerusalem the Golden," and " Jerusalem, my Happy Home," which is a portion of the great poem of Bernard, "De Contemptu Mundi" (see page 981), is of uncertain origin, and seems to have grown out of a number of metrical productions by different authors. See the hymns of Damiani, Hildebert, and Bernard of Cluny. As it appears in the hymn-books, it has long been ascribed to David Dickson, of Scotland, 1583-1663, though it is thought now that he gave it a Presbyterian character, it having been of Catholic origin. Dr. Bonar and Mr. William C. Prime have written brochures on the origin of the hymn.

HIERUSALEM, my happy home!

When shall I come to thee! When shall my sorrowes have an end, Thy joyes when shall I see?

In thee noe sicknesse may be seene, Noe hurt, noe ache, noe sore; There is noe death, nor uglie Devill, There is life forevermore.

Noe dampish mist is seene in thee,
Noe colde nor darksome night;
There everie soule shines as the sunne,
There God himselfe gives light.

There lust and lukar cannot dwell,
There envy bears no sway;
There is no hunger, heate, nor colde,
But pleasure everie way.

Hierusalem! Hierusalem!

God grant I soon may see
Thy endless joyes; and of the same
Partaker aye to bee.

Thy walls are made of pretious stones, Thy bulwarkes diamondes square; Thy gates are of right orient pearle, Exceedinge riche and rare.

Thy turrettes and thy pinnacles

With carbuncles doe shine; Thy verrie streets are paved with gould, Surpassinge cleare and fine.

Thy houses are of yvorie,

Thy windows crystal cleare,

Thy tyles are made of beaten gould,
O God! that I were there.

Within thy gates nothinge doth come
That is not passinge cleane,
Noe spider's web, no durt, no dust,
Noe filthe may there be seene.

Ah! my sweete home, Hierusalem,
Would God I were in thee!
Would God my woes were at an end,

Thy ioyes that I might see.

Thy saints are crowned with glorie great,
They see God face to face;

They triumph still, they still reioyce,
Most happie is their case.

Wee that are heere in banishment,
Continuallie doe moane;

We sigh, and sobbe, we weepe, and weale,
Perpetuallie we groane.

Our sweete is mixt with bitter gaule,

Our pleasure is but paine;
Our ioyes scarce last the lookeing on,
Our sorrowes still remaine.

JERUSALEM! HIGH TOWER.

"Jerusalem, du hochgebaute Stadt."

WILLIAM ROLLINSON WHITTINGHAM, the late Bishop of Maryland, was born in New York City, Dec. 2, 1805. Educated entirely by his mother until he entered the General Theological Seminary of New York, he graduated from it a year in advance of the canonical age for ordination. He became Professor of Ecclesiastical History in the seminary from which he had graduated, in 1835, and in 1840 was chosen Bishop of Maryland. His death occurred in 1879.

JOHANN MATTHÆUS MEYFART, from whom this is translated, was professor at Erfurt; born in 1590, and died in 1636.

JERUSALEM! high tower thy glorious walls,
Would God I were in thee!

Desire of thee my longing heart enthralls,
Desire at home to be:

Wide from the world outleaping,

O'er hill and vale and plain,

My soul's strong wing is sweeping,
Thy portals to attain.

O gladsome day, and yet more gladsome