Chapter 10 No.10

"St. George for Merrie England!" let us cry

And each a red rose pin upon his breast,

Then face the foe with fearless front and eye

Through all our frowning leaguer in the West.

For not alone his Patron Day it is

Wherefrom our noble George hath drawn his name;

Three centuries and a half gone by ere this;

By Shakespeare's birth it won a second fame.

A greater glory is its crown to-day

Since at its first and faintest uttered breath

A mighty angel rolled the stone away

That sealed His tomb Who captive now leads death,

And thereby did the great example give.

That they who die for others most shall live.

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THE ASCENSION

When Christ their Lord, to Heaven upraised,

Was wafted from the Apostles' sight,

And upwards wistfully they gazed

Into the far, blue Infinite,

Behold two men in white apparel dressed

Who thus bespake them on the mountain crest:

"Why stand ye, men of Galilee,

So sadly gazing on the skies?

For this same Jesus, whom ye see

Caught in the clouds to Paradise,

Shall in like manner from the starry height

Return again to greet your joyful sight."

Would, O Lord Jesus! thus to hear

Thy farewell words we too had met,

Among Thine own Disciples dear,

Upon the brow of Olivet!

Yet are we blest, though of that joy bereaved,

Who having seen Thee not, have yet believed.

O, then in each succeeding year

When Thine Ascension Day draws round,

With hearts so full of holy fear

May we within Thy Church be found,

That in the spirit we may see Thee rise

And bless us with pierced hands from out the skies!

Christ, if our gaze for ever thus

Is fixed upon Thy Heavenward way,

Death shall but bring to each of us

At last his soul's Ascension Day,

Till in Thy mercy Thou descend once more

And quick and dead to meet Thy coming soar.

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WHITSUNTIDE

When Christ from off the mountain crest

Before their marvelling eyes,

Whilst His disciples still He blessed,

Was caught into the skies-

The Angels, whose harmonious breath

Erstwhile proclaimed His birth,

Now hailed Him Victor over Death,

Redeemer of the Earth;

"Lift up your heads, ye Heavenly Gates!"

Rang forth their joyful strain;

"For lo! the King of Glory waits

To enter you again!"

Thus, heralded, from Heaven to Heaven

Magnifical He goes,

Until the last of all the seven

To greet His coming glows;

While He the Eternal long left lone

To meet Him doth upstand,

Then sets His Son upon the Throne

Once more at His right hand.

Whereat with one triumphal hymn

Majestically blent

The Cherubim and Seraphim

The Universe have rent.

Last, from the splendrous mercy seat,

Of Father and of Son,

To Earth, their purpose to complete,

Descends the Promised One.

Like to a mighty rushing wind

He falls, subduing space,

To where Christ's chosen with one mind

Are gathered in one place.

With tongues of flame He lights on each,

Whose wonder-working spell

Fires them in every human speech

[133] Heaven's message forth to tell.

The coward brood of doubt and fear

And hesitance are fled;

Before the quickening Comforter

They rise as from the dead.

The bolted door is yawning wide,

The barred gate backward flung;

And forth unarmed and fearless-eyed,

They fare their foes among.

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HARVEST HYMN

CAST THY BREAD UPON THE WATERS

O ye weeping sons and daughters,

Trust the Heavenly Harvest Giver,

Cast your bread upon the waters

Of His overflowing river;

Cast the good seed, nothing doubting

That your tears shall turn to praise,

Ye shall yet behold it sprouting

Heavenward, after many days.

Hope and love, long frost-withholden,

Into laughing life upleaping,

Blade and ear, from green to golden,

Yet shall ripen for your reaping;

Till some radiant summer morrow,

Wheresoe'er your sickle cleaves,

Ye, who sow to-day in sorrow,

Shout for joy amid your sheaves.

O then, learn the inmost meaning

Of your harvest's rich redundance,

Bid the famished ones come gleaning

In the fields of your abundance;

So in overrunning measure

Shall your thankful fellow-men

Give you, of their hearts' hid treasure,

All your good gifts back again.

Till, ye faithful sons and daughters,

God your golden lives deliver,

Like the good grain to the waters

Of death's overflowing river;

Till up-caught amid His sleepers,

Heavenly fruit from earthly loam,

At the last, His angel reapers

On their bosoms bear you home.

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