.

Chase from our minds the infernal foe,
And peace, the fruit of love, bestow;
And, lest our feet should step astray,
Protect and guide us on the way.

Make us eternal truths receive,
And practise all that we believe;
Give us thyself, that we may see
The Father and the Son by thee.

Immortal honor, endless fame,
Attend the Almighty Father's name;
The Saviour Son be glorified,
Who for lost man's redemption died;
And equal adoration be,

Eternal Paraclete, to thee.

From the Latin of ST. GREGORY.

Translation of JOHN DRYDEN.

VENI SANCTE SPIRITUS.

[Written in the tenth century by Robert II., the gentle son of Hugh Capet. It is often mentioned as second in rank to the Dies Ira.]

COME, Holy Ghost! thou fire divine!

From highest heaven on us down shine!
Comforter, be thy comfort mine!

Come, Father of the poor, to earth;
Come, with thy gifts of precious worth;
Come Light of all of mortal birth!

Thou rich in comfort! Ever blest

The heart where thou art constant guest,
Who giv'st the heavy-laden rest.

Come, thou in whom our toil is sweet,
Our shadow in the noonday heat,
Before whom mourning flieth fleet.

Bright Sun of Grace! thy sunshine dart
On all who cry to thee apart,
And fill with gladness every heart.

Whate'er without thy aid is wrought,
Or skilful deed, or wisest thought,
God counts it vain and merely naught.

O cleanse us that we sin no more,
O'er parched souls thy waters pour;
Heal the sad heart that acheth sore.

Thy will be ours in all our ways;
O melt the frozen with thy rays;
Call home the lost in error's maze.

And grant us, Lord, who cry to thee,
And hold the Faith in unity,
Thy precious gifts of charity;

That we may live in holiness,
And find in death our happiness,

And dwell with thee in lasting bliss!

From the Latin of KING ROBERT II. OF FRANCE.

Translation of CATHARINE WINKWORTH.

O FIRE OF GOD, THE COMFORTER.

66 O IGNIS SPIRITUS PARACLITI."

O FIRE of God, the Comforter, O life of all that live,

Holy art thou to quicken us, and holy, strength to give:

To heal the broken-hearted ones, their sorest wounds to bind,

O Spirit of all holiness, O Lover of mankind! O sweetest taste within the breast, O grace upon us poured,

That saintly hearts may give again their perfume to the Lord.

O purest fountain! we can see, clear mirrored in thy streams,

That God brings home the wanderers, that God the lost redeems.

O breastplate strong to guard our life, O bond of unity,

O dwelling-place of righteousness, save all who trust in thee:

Defend those who in dungeon dark are prisoned by the foe,

And, for thy will is aye to save, let thou the cap

tives go.

O surest way, that through the height and through the lowest deep

And through the earth dost pass, and all in firmest

union keep;

From thee the clouds and ether move, from thee the moisture flows,

From thee the waters draw their rills, and earth with verdure glows,

And thou dost ever teach the wise, and freely on

them pour

The inspiration of thy gifts, the gladness of thy lore.

All praise to thee, O joy of life, O hope and strength, we raise,

Who givest us the prize of light, who art thyself all praise.

From the Latin of ST. HILDEGARDE.

Translation of R. F. LITTLEDALE.

THE HOLY SPIRIT.

IN the hour of my distress,
When temptations me oppress,
And when I my sins confess,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When I lie within my bed,
Sick at heart, and sick in head,
And with doubts discomforted,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the house doth sigh and weep,
And the world is drowned in sleep,
Yet mine eyes the watch do keep,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the artless doctor sees
No one hope but of his fees,
And his skill runs on the lees,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When his potion and his pill
Has or none or little skill,
Meet for nothing but to kill,-
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the passing-bell doth toll,
And the Furies, in a shoal,
Come to fright a parting soul,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the tapers now burn blue,
And the comforters are few,

And that number more than true,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the priest his last hath prayed, And I nod to what is said

'Cause my speech is now decayed, Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When, God knows, I'm tost about
Either with despair or doubt,
Yet before the glass be out,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the tempter me pursu’th
With the sins of all my youth,
And half damns me with untruth,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!