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Ah! then, poor soul, what wilt thou say,
But Thou giv'st leave (dread Lord) that we
Lord ! remember in that day,
Shall all that labonr, all that cost
The original of this fine hymn is still to be found in the Roman Missal, and as it may not be familiar to many of our readers, we subjoin it for its great beauty and sublimity of expression, and harmony of numbers. Dies iræ, dies illa
Quærens me sedisti lassus :
Redemisti crucem passus ;
Tantus labor non sit cassius,
Juste Judex ultionis
Donum fac remissionis
Ante diem rationis.
Ingemisco tanquam reus :
Culpâ rubet, vultus meus ;
Sapplicanti parce Deus. ,
Qui Mariam absolvisti,
Et latronem exaudisti
Mibi quoque spem dedisti.
Preces mcæ non sunt dignæ :
Sed tu bonus fac benigné,
Ne perenni cremer igue.
Inter oves locum præsta,
Et ab bædis me sequestra,
Statnens in parte dextra.
Flammis acribus addictis,
Voca me cum benedictis.
Oro supplex et acclinis,
Cor coutritum quasi cinis.
Gere curam mei finis.
Lacrymosa dies illa,
Quâ resurget ex favilla
Judicandus homo reus!
Just mercy! then thy reck’ning be
We trust that our readers will not be displeased, if we subjoin farther that short but beautiful introduction tu, and imitation of this sane hymn, in the “ Lay of the last Minstrel." The mass was sung, and prayers were said, HYMN FOR THE DEAD. And solemn requienı for the dead; That day of wrath, that dreadful day, And bells tolled out their mighty peal When heav'n and earth shall pass away, For the departed spirit's weal;
What power shall be the sinner's stay? And ever in the office close
How shall be meet that dreadful day? The hymn of Intercession rose; And far the echoing aisles prolong
When shrivelling like a parched scroll, The awful burtben of the song,
The flaming heavens together roll; Dies iræ, dies illa
When louder yet and yet more dread, Solvet sæclum in favilla.
Swells the high trump, that wakes the dead ; While the pealing organ rung,
O! on that day, that wrathful day, Were it meet with sacred strain When man to judgment wakes from clay,
To close my lay so light and vain, Be Thou the trembling sinner's stay, Thus the holy Fathers sung:
Thoogh licav'o and earth shall pass away, REMEMBRANCER, No. 44.
AN EPITAPH ON MR. ASHTON,
A CONFORMABLE CITIZEN.
The modest front of this small floor,
Here lies a truly honest man.
What remains then, but that thou
EPITAPH ON MR. HERRYS.
Passenger, whoe'er thou art
The ripe endowments of whose mind
There are two other elegiac pieces to the memory of this same Gentleman, and in one of these occur the two following similes, which possess great beauty. Having described
him as one,
in whose rare frame
The pattern of a perfect creature.
I've seen the morning's lovely ray
Hover o'er the new-born day Blushing to behold the ray
With rosy wings so richly bright Of the new-saluted day;
As if he scorned to think of night. (His tender top not fully spread)
When a ruddy storm, whose scowl The sweet dash of a shower now shed, Made heaven's radiant face look foul, Invited him no inore to hide
Callid for an untimely night Within himself the purple pride
To blot the newly-blossom'd light. Of his forward flow'r-When lo !
But were the roses blush so rare, Whilst he sweetly 'gan to shew
Were the morping's smile so fair, His swelling glories, Auster spied him, As is He-nor cloud, nor wind Cruel Auster thither bied him,
But would be conrteous, would be kind. And with the rush of one rude blast
Spare him, death, O spare him then ! Sham'd not-spitefully—to waste
Spare the sweetest among men. All bis leaves, so fresh, so sweet
“ Upon the death of the most desired And lay them trembling at his feet.
And th' heart-bred lustre of his worth,
Him while fresh and fragrant time
Enough now (if thou can'st) pass on-
Passenger, (whoe'er thou art)
THE WIDOW'S MITES.
Two mites-lwo dropsyet all her house and land Falls from a steady heart, tho' trembling hand, The others wanton wealth foams high and brave; The others cast away-she only gare,
ST. MARK XII.
(Give to Cesar....)
(And to God....)
THE AUTHOR'S MOTTO.