They rise, the sleepless watchmen
Upon the Church's wall;
With yearning supplication

On GOD the LORD they call:
And He, though long time silent,
Bow'd down a gracious ear,

His people's earnest crying

Sing, sing for joy, each desert!
Exult, each realm of earth!
Ye mountains, drop down sweetness!
Ye hillocks, leap for mirth!
For CHRIST the WORD, bestowing

His blessed peace on men,

In Faith's most holy union

Hath knit His Church again.

The Gon of vengeance rises:
And CHRIST attacks the foe,

And makes His servants mighty

The wicked to o'erthrow:

And now Thy condescension
In boldness may we hymn,
And now in peace and safety
Thy sacred Image limn.

O LORD of loving kindness,
How wondrous are Thy ways!
What tongue of man suffices
Thy gentleness to praise ?
Because of Thy dear Image

Men dared Thy Saints to kill, Yet didst Thou not consume them, But bar'st their insults still.

Thou who hast fixed unshaken
Thy Church's mighty frame,
So that hell-gates shall never
Prevail against the same

Bestow upon Thy people

Thy peace, that we may bring One voice, one hymn, one spirit,

To glorify our King!

S. Methodius I.

+ A.D. 836.

S. Methodius I., a native of Syracuse, embraced the monastic life at Constantinople. Sent as legate from Pope Paschal to Michael the Stammerer, he was imprisoned by that prince in a close cell, and there passed nine years, on account of his resolute defence of Icons. Having been scourged for the same cause, by the Emperor Theophilus, he made his escape from prison; and when peace was restored to the Church was raised to the throne of Constantinople. His first care was to assemble a Synod for the restoration of Icons; and it is, properly speaking, that Synod which the Greeks celebrate on Orthodoxy Sunday. With this

Council the Iconoclast troubles ceased. S. Methodius died November 4, 846. His compositions are very few, and are chiefly confined to Idiomela.

That which follows seems to me the prettiest. It is for a Sunday of the Fourth Tone.

εἰ καὶ τὰ παρόντα.

Are thy toils and woes increasing?
Are the Foe's attacks unceasing?

Look with Faith unclouded,

Gaze with eyes unshrouded,
On the Cross!

Dost thou fear that strictest trial?
Tremblest thou at CHRIST's denial?

Never rest without it,

Clasp thine arms about it,

-That dear Cross!

Diabolic legions press thee?

Thoughts and works of sin distress thee?

It shall chase all terror,

It shall right all error,

That sweet Cross!

Draw'st thou nigh to Jordan's river?

Should'st thou tremble?

quiver?

Need'st thou

No! if by it lying—

No! if on it dying,

On the Cross!

Say then," Master, while I cherish

That sweet hope, I cannot perish!
After this life's story,

Give Thou me the glory
For the Cross!"