The peace of all the faithful,
The calm of all the blest,
Inviolate, unvaried,

Divinest, sweetest, best.

That peace, but who may claim it?
The guileless in their way,

Who keep the ranks of battle,

Who mean the thing they say.

Strive, man, to win that glory,
Toil, man, to gain that light,
Send hope before to grasp it,
Till hope be lost in sight!

URBS SION AUREA

FROM THE SAME

JERUSALEM the golden,

With milk and honey blest, Beneath thy contemplation

Sink heart and voice oppressed

I know not, O, I know not,
What social joys are there,
What radiancy of glory,

What light beyond compare!

They stand, those halls of Zion,
Conjubilant with song,

And bright with many an angel
And all the martyr throng.
And they who, with their Leader,
Have conquered in the fight,
Forever and forever

Are clad in robes of white.

Jerusalem the glorious,
The glory of the elect,

HC-Vol. 45 (3)

O dear and future vision

That eager hearts expect,
New mansion of new people,

Whom God's own love and light
Promote, increase, make holy,
Identify, unite!

JESU, DULCIS MEMORIA

ST. BERNARD OF CLAIRVAUX. Tr. E. CASWALL

[1091-1153]

JESU, the very thought of Thee
With sweetness fills the breast;
But sweeter far Thy Face to see,
And in Thy Presence rest.

No voice can sing, no heart can frame,
Nor can the memory find

A sweeter sound than Jesu's Name,
The Saviour of mankind.

O Hope of every contrite heart,

O Joy of all the meek,

To those who ask how kind Thou art,
How good to those who seek!

But what to those who find? Ah! this

Nor tongue nor pen can show;

The love of Jesus, what it is
None but His loved ones know.

Jesu, our only Joy be Thou,

As Thou our Prize wilt be:
In Thee be all our glory now,
And through eternity.

JESU, DULCEDO CORDIUM

ST. BERNARD OF CLAIRVAUX. Tr. RAY PALMER

[1091-1153]

JESUS, Thou Joy of loving hearts!

Thou Fount of Life! Thou Light of men!
From the best bliss that earth imparts,
We turn unfill'd to Thee again.

Thy truth unchanged hath ever stood;
Thou savest those that on Thee call;
To them that seek Thee, Thou art good,
To them that find Thee, All in All!

We taste Thee, O Thou Living Bread,
And long to feast upon Thee still!
We drink of Thee, the Fountain Head,
And thirst our souls from Thee to fill!

Our restless spirits yearn for Thee,
Where'er our changeful lot is cast;
Glad, when Thy gracious smile we see,
Blest, when our faith can hold Thee fast.

O Jesus, ever with us stay!

Make all our moments calm and bright!

Chase the dark night of sin away,

Shed o'er the world Thy holy light!

DIES IRE, DIES ILLA

THOMAS A CELANO. Tr. J. O'HAGAN
[d. 1275]

DAY of wrath, that day whose knelling
Gives to flame this earthly dwelling;

Psalm and Sibyl thus foretelling.

Oh, what agony of trembling,
When the judge mankind assembling,
Probeth all beyond dissembling.

Pealing wondrous through the regions,
Shall the trumpet force obedience,
And the graves yield up their legions.

Startled death and nature sicken,
Thus to see the creature quicken,
Waiting judgment terror-stricken.

Open, then, with all recorded,
Stands the book from whence awarded
Doom shall pass with deed accorded.

When the judge is throned in session. All things hid shall find confession, Unavenged be no transgression.

Wretch, what then shall be my pleading? Who my patron interceding?

Scarce the just securely speeding.

Thou, O king of awful splendour,
Saving grace dost freely render;
Save me, fount of pity tender.

Think, 'twas I, my lost condition,
Caused, O pitying Lord, thy mission;
Spare my soul that day's perdition.

Seeking me, thy footstep hasted;
Me to save, the cross was tasted,
Be not toil so mighty wasted.

Righteous judge of retribution,
Grant the gift of absolution
Ere the day of restitution.

Me my culprit heart accuses;
Inmost guilt my face suffuses;

Heal, O Lord, thy suppliant's bruises.

Thou who Mary's sin hast shriven,
Thou who broughtst the thief to heaven,
Hope to me hast also given.

Nothing worth is mine endeavour,
Yet, in ruth, my soul deliver
From the flame that burns for ever.

With thy sheep, thy chosen, place me,
Severed from the goats embrace me;
On thy right-hand, ransomed, place me.

When the reprobate confounded
Lie with wrathful fire surrounded,
May my call to bliss be sounded.

Crushed to dust and prostrate bending,
All my heart contrition rending;
I implore thee, guard my ending.

Oh, that awful day of mourning,
When, from earthly dust returning,

Guilty man shall bide his sentence;
Spare him, God, for his repentance.

Jesus, Lord, thy mercy lending,
Grant them rest, thy rest unending.

STABAT MATER

JACOBUS DE BENEDICTIS. Tr. D. F. MACCARTHY [13th-14th Century]

By the cross, on which suspended,
With his bleeding hands extended,
Hung that Son she so adored,