Volume 20 — Church Song.

“And when they had said an hymn, they went forth to the Mount of Olives.”—S. Mark xiv. 26.

“Hymnum cecinit, ut et nos similiter faciamus.”—S. Chrysostom.

The Disciple.

A world I'd give to hear thee sing

That song!

Too long

Is life until it bring

The breaking of the bonds that cling

About this deadly flesh.

Sweet Lord, refresh

My weary, longing soul;

And this sad banishment condole

With one faint echo of that strain

Of melody divine, which must remain

Yet murmuring through space

Of all creation's bound;

And so controls

The harmony that rolls

In floods of majesty and grace

Throughout thy dwelling-place,

From tuneful lyres

Of angel choirs,

From ceaseless rapturous songs

Of shining saintly throngs,

That every sound

Heaven hears doth merely seem

Made to accompany thy theme.

Wondrous Singer, O my Lord and King!

Tell me, who taught thee how to sing

So sweet a strain?

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The Master.

I heard my Mother's voice one morn,

Whilst yet in womb unborn,

Chanting the canticle of praise

She still in heaven doth raise;

And when a boy, oft at her knee,

She did the tuneful mystery

Unfold to me.

Wouldst hear me sing?

'Tis no hard thing.

Go, hearken to the singing of my Bride

With whom my Presence ever doth abide;

Who is a Mother unto thee,

Like as the Virgin, full of grace, to me.

Her voice, in melody her own,

If thou wilt mark its heavenly tone,

Hath cunning art

To make thy heart

Hear mine again.