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When His heart stern death was rending,

They cried out, “ Thy death-bed leave, "And from off Thy cross descending, “We will upon Thee believe.”

To death resign'd
He would suffer no reprieve.

No, He hath not thence descended,

Or ye would for ever grieve,
But from death He hath ascended,
Will ye not in Him believe ?

'Tis He alone
Can your chains of death relieve.

Lord, with Thee in daily dying

May we die, and with Thee rise ;
And on earth, ourselves denying,
Have our hearts within the skies,

To sing our God,
Three in One, sole good and wise.

MARY MAGDALENE.

Why for thy Lord dost thou thus weep and mourn,
Like one half-broken-hearted and forlorn ?
No need for Him that thou should'st mourn and weep,
No need with tears an empty shroud to steep.

He, whom thou seekest in the murky tomb,
Hath sprung bright and victorious from the gloom ;
He lives, He greatly lives for everinore ;
See! wide the rocks ope the sepulchral door.

Why bringst thou myrrh and spices, offerings meet
For livid corpses in their winding-sheet ?
His body blooms with immortality,
Meet to return to His paternal sky.

Thy tears proclaim the greatness of Thy love,
Nor doth thy Lord thy flowing tears reprove;
Hear'st thou ? and know'st thou not that voice adored ?
'Tis thine own name! He speaks—thy God and Lord.

Now go, first witness and first messenger,
Throughout the city thy glad tidings bear,
And teach the Twelve that Christ himself is nigh,
And, wheresoe'er thou speakest, standing by.

All love, and praise, and majesty be Thine,
Father and Son, and Holy Spirit Divine ;
Quicken'd by whom, our bodies shall return,
And in immortal bloom for ever burn.

THE ASCENSION.

O CHRIST, our hope, our heart's desire,

Redemption's only spring ; Creator of the world art 'Thou,

Its SAVIOUR, and its King.

How vast the mercy and the love

Which laid our sins on Thee, And led Thee to a cruel death,

To set Thy people free!

But now the bonds of death are burst,

The ransom hath been paid ; And Thou art, on Thy Father's throne,

In glorious robes array’d.

O Christ, be Thou our present joy,

Our future great reward ; Our only glory may it be

To glory in the LORD.

THE CONVERSION OF ST. PAUL.

WHITHER, Saul, this raging sense

In thy bosom burning,
On defenceless innocence

All thy fury turning ?
Other than thou hast in mind,
An avenger shalt thou find.

Christ is now at hand, behold,

Who His power defieth ?
Where is now pursuer bold ?

On the earth he lieth :
And Christ's armed foe e'en now
Shall as Christ's meek herald go.

He, who, fill’d with threatnings, sped,

Chains and death preparing ; By a gentle hand is led,

With a child-like bearing ; Like a raging wolf he came, But he goes a gentle lamb.

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