Thou hast no shore, fair ocean!
Thou hast no time, bright day!
Dear fountain of refreshment
To pilgrims far away!
Upon the Rock of ages
They raise thy holy tower;
Thine is the victor's laurel,
And thine the golden dower.
The only art thou needest,
Thanksgiving for thy lot:
The only joy thou seekest,
The life where death is not.
BERNARD OF MORLAIX OR CLUNY tr. by JOHN MASON NEALE.
I praised the earth, in beauty seen
With garlands gay of various green;
I praised the sea, whose ample field
Shone glorious as a silver shield:
And earth and ocean seemed to say,
'Our beauties are but for a day!'
I praised the sun, whose chariot rolled
On wheels of amber and of gold;
I praised the moon, whose softer eye
Gleamed sweetly through the summer sky:
And moon and sun in answer said,
'Our days of light are numbered!'
O God! O good beyond compare !
If thus Thy meaner works are fair,
If thus Thy bounties gild the span
Of ruined earth and sinful man,
How glorious must the mansion be
Where Thy redeemed shall dwell with Thee !
'In journeying often; in perils of waters.'-Epistle.
How are Thy servants blest, O Lord,
How sure is their defence!
Eternal wisdom is their guide,
Their help, omnipotence.
From all my griefs and fears, O Lord,
Thy mercy sets me free;
While in the confidence of prayer
My heart takes hold of Thee.
In midst of dangers, fears, and death,
Thy goodness I'll adore;
Still praise Thee for Thy mercies past
And humbly hope for more.
My life, while Thou preserv'st that life,
Thy sacrifice shall be;
And O, may death, when death shall come,
Unite my soul to Thee.
'Te laeta mundi conditor.'
Thou, great Creator, art possessed,
And Thou alone, of endless rest,
To angels only it belongs
To lift to Thee their ceaseless songs.
But we must toil and toil again
With ceaseless woe and endless pain;
How then can we in exile drear
Raise the glad song of glory here?
O Thou, who wilt forgiving be
To all who truly turn to Thee,
Grant us to mourn the heavy cause
Of all our woe, Thy broken laws.
Then to the sharp and wholesome grief
Let faith and hope bring due relief,
And we too shall be soon possessed
Of ceaseless songs and endless rest.
To God the Father, God the Son,
And God the Spirit, Three in One,
Let equal praise to each be given
By men and angels, earth and heaven.
CHARLES COFFIN (Paris Breviary). tr. by JOHN CHANDLER.
Gracious Spirit, Holy Ghost,
Taught by Thee, we covet most
Of Thy gifts at Pentecost,
Holy, heavenly love.
Faith that mountains could remove,
Tongues of earth or heaven above,
Knowledge-all things-empty prove,
Without heavenly love.
Though I as a martyr bleed,
Give my goods the poor to feed,
All is vain if love I need ;
Therefore, give me love.
Love is kind and suffers long,
Love is meek, and thinks no wrong,
Love than death itself more strong;
Therefore, give us love.
Faith and hope and love we see
Joining hand in hand agree;
But the greatest of the three
And the best is love.
From the overshadowing
Of Thy gold and silver wing
Shed on us who to Thee sing
Holy, heavenly love.
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