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Woe for that bitter, bitter moment,

The fearful start, the parting groan, The wrench of anguish, from the body

When the poor soul goes forth alone! Hell and destructiou are before her; Earth in its truest worth she sees; A flickering shade; a dream of error ; A vanity of vanities.

Sin in this world let us flee,

That in heaven our place may be.

Draw nigh, ye sons of Adam; viewing
A likeness of yourselves in clay :
Its beauty gone; its grace disfigured;
Dissolving in the tomb's decay;
The prey of worms and of corruption,
In silent darkness mouldering on;
Earth gathers round the coffin, hiding
The brother, now for ever gone.
Yet we cry, around him pressed,
Grant him, LORD, eternal rest!

When, hurried forth by fearful angels,
The soul forsakes her earthly frame,

Then friends and kindred she forgetteth,
And this world's cares have no more claim,

Then passed are vanity and labour;
She hears the Judge's voice alone;

She sees the ineffable tribunal :

Where we, too, cry with suppliant moan, For the sins that soul hath done,

Grant Thy pardon, Holy One!

Now all the organs of the body,

So full of energy before,

Have lost perception, know not motion,

Can suffer and can act no more.

The eyes are closed in death's dark shadow; The ear can never hear again;

The feet are bound; the hands lie idle;

The tongue is fast as with a chain.

Great and mighty though he be,
Every man is vanity.

Behold and weep me, friends and brethren!

Voice, sense, and breath, and motion gone; But yesterday I dwelt among you;

Then death's most fearful hour came on. Embrace me with the last embracement; Kiss me with this, the latest kiss; Never again shall I be with you;

Never with you share woe or bliss.

I go toward the dread tribunal

Where no man's person

preferred;

Where lord and slave, where chief and soldier,
Where rich and poor, alike are heard:
One is the manner of their judgment;
Their plea and their condition one :
And they shall reap in woe or glory
The earthly deeds that they have done.

I pray you, brethren, I adjure you,

Pour forth to CHRIST the ceaseless prayer, He would not doom me to Gehenna,

But in His glory give me share!

IDIOMELA FOR ALL SAINTS.

τὰς ἑδρὰς τὰς αἰωνίας.

Those eternal bowers

Man hath never trod,

Those unfading flowers

Round the Throne of GOD:

Who may hope to gain them
After weary fight?

Who at length attain them

Clad in robes of white ?

He, who gladly barters

All on earthly ground;
He who, like the Martyrs,
Says, 'I WILL be crown'd :'
He, whose one oblation

Is a life of love;
Clinging to the nation

Of the Blest above.

F

Shame upon you, legions
Of the Heavenly King,
Denizens of regions

Past imagining!

What! with pipe and tabor

Fool away the light,

When He bids you labour,

When He tells you,-'Fight!'

While I do my duty,

Struggling through the tide, Whisper Thou of beauty

On the other side!

Tell who will the story
Of our now distress:
Oh the future glory!

Oh the loveliness!

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