DARKNESS IS THINNING.

DARKNESS is thinning; shadows are retreating:

Morning and light are coming in their beauty. Suppliant seek we, with an earnest outcry, God the Almighty!

So that our Master, having mercy on us, May repel languor, may bestow salvation, Granting us, Father, of Thy loving kindness Glory hereafter!

This of His mercy, ever Blessed Godhead, Father, and Son, and Holy Spirit, give us— Whom through the wide world celebrate for

ever

Blessing and Glory! ST. GREGORY THE GREAT. (Latin.) Translation of JoHN MASON NEALE

EARLY RISING AND PRAYER.

WHEN first thy eyes unveil, give thy soul leave

To do the like; our bodies but forerun The spirit's duty: true hearts spread and heave

Unto their God as flowers do to the sun. Give Him thy first thoughts then, so shalt

thou keep

Him company all day, and in Him sleep.

Yet never sleep the sun up, prayer should Dawn with the day; there are set awful hours

'Twixt heaven and us; the manna was not good

After sun-rising; far-day sullies flowers.

Rise to prevent the sun; sleep doth sins glut, And heaven's gate opens when the world's is shut.

Walk with thy fellow-creatures: note the hush

And whisperings among them. Not a spring Or leaf but hath his morning hymn; each

bush

And oak doth know I AM. Canst thou not sing?

O, leave thy cares and follies! go this way,
And thou art sure to prosper all the day.

Serve God before the world; let Him not go
Until thou hast a blessing; then resign
The whole unto Him, and remember who
Prevailed by wrestling ere the sun did shine:
Pour oil upon the stones, weep for thy sin,
Then journey on, and have an eye to heaven.
Mornings are mysteries: the first, world's
youth,

Man's resurrection, and the future's bud, Shroud in their births; the crown of life, light, truth,

Is styled their star-the stone and hidden food.

Three blessings wait upon them, one of which Should move-they make us holy, happy,

rich.

When the world's up, and every swarm abroad,

Keep well thy temper, mix not with each clay;

Despatch necessities; life hath a load

Which must be carried on, and safely may: Yet keep those cares without thee; let the heart

Be God's alone, and choose the better part.

HENRY VAUGHAN.

THE SPIRIT-LAND.

FATHER! Thy wonders do not singly stand, Nor far removed where feet have seldom strayed;

Around us ever lies the enchanted land,
In marvels rich to Thine own sons displayed;
In finding Thee are all things round us found;
In losing Thee are all things lost beside;
Ears have we, but in vain strange voices
sound;

And to our eyes the vision is denied;

We wander in the country far remote,

Mid tombs and ruined piles in death to dwell;

Or on the records of past greatness dote,
And for a buried soul the living sell;
While on our path bewildered falls the night
That ne'er returns us to the fields of light.
JONES VERY.

THE PHILOSOPHER'S DEVOTION.

SING aloud! His praise rehearse, Who hath made the universe. He the boundless heavens has spread, All the vital orbs has kned; He that on Olympus high Tends His flock with watchful eye; And this eye has multiplied Midst each flock for to reside. Thus, as round about they stray, Toucheth each with outstretched ray: Nimbly they hold on their way, Shaping out their night and day. Never slack they; none respires, Dancing round their central fires.

In due order as they move, Echoes sweet be gently drove Through heaven's vast hollowness, Which unto all comers pressMusic, that the heart of Jove Moves to joy and sportful love, Fills the listening sailor's ears, Riding on the wandering spheres. Neither speech nor language is Where their voice is not transmiss.

God is good, is wise, is strongWitness all the creature-throngIs confessed by every tongue. All things back from whence they

sprung,

As the thankful rivers pay What they borrowed of the sea.

Now, myself, I do resign; Take me whole, I all am Thine. Save me, God! from self-desire, Death's pit, dark hell's raging fire, Envy, hatred, vengeance, ire; Let not lust my soul bemire.

Quit from these, Thy praise I'll sing, Loudly sweep the trembling string. Bear a part, O wisdom's sons, Freed from vain religions! Lo! from far I you salute, Sweetly warbling on my luteIndia, Egypt, Araby, Asia, Greece, and Tartary, Carmel-tracts and Lebanon, With the mountains of the moon, From whence muddy Nile doth run; Or, wherever else you won, Breathing in one vital air-One we are though distant far.

Rise at once-let's sacrifice! Odors sweet perfume the skies. See how heavenly lightning fires Hearts inflamed with high aspires; All the substance of our souls Up in clouds of incense rolls! Leave we nothing to ourselves Save a voice-what need we else?

To the wild woods I will be gone,

And the coarse meals of great Saint John.

When truth and piety are missed,
Both in the rulers and the priest;
When pity is not cold, but dead,
And the rich eat the poor like bread;
While factious heads, with open coil
And force, first make, then share, the spoil;
To Horeb then Elias goes,

And in the desert grows the rose.

Hail, crystal fountains and fresh shades,
Where no proud look invades,
No busy worldling hunts away
The sad retirer all the day!
Hail, happy, harmless solitude!
Our sanctuary from the rude
And scornful world; the calm recess
Of faith, and hope, and holiness!
Here something still like Eden looks—
Honey in woods, juleps in brooks;
And flowers whose rich, unrifled sweets
With a chaste kiss the cool dew greets,
When the toils of the day are done,
And the tired world sets with the sun.
Here flying winds and flowing wells
Are the wise, watchful hermit's bells;
Their busy murmurs all the night
To praise or prayer do invite;
And with an awful sound arrest,
And piously employ his breast.

When in the East the dawn doth blush, Here cool, fresh spirits the air brush;

And hard by, shelters on some bough
Hilarion's servant, the sage crow.
O purer years of light and grace!
Great is the difference, as the space,
'Twixt you and us, who blindly run
After false fires, and leave the sun.
Is not fair nature of herself
Much richer than dull paint and pelf?
And are not streams at the spring head
More sweet than in carved stone or lead?
But fancy and some artist's tools
Frame a religion for fools.

The truth, which once was plainly taught,
With thorns and briars now is fraught.
Some part is with bold fables spotted,
Some by strange comments wildly blotted;
And discord, old corruption's crest,
With blood and blame have stained the rest.
So snow, which in its first descents
A whiteness like pure heaven presents,
When touched by man is quickly soiled,
And after trodden down and spoiled.

O lead me where I may be free
In truth and spirit to serve Thee!
Where undisturbed I may converse
With Thy great Self; and there rehearse
Thy gifts with thanks; and from Thy store,
Who art all blessings, beg much more.

Give me the wisdom of the bee,

And her unwearied industry!

That from the wild gourds of these days,

I may extract health, and Thy praise
Who canst turn darkness into light,
And in my weakness show Thy might.