53 Thou didst save the woman pleading, And the thief beside Thee bleeding, Grant me hope, like pity needing.

Vows and prayers can save me never;
Grace alone can me deliver

From the fire that burns for ever.

With Thy sheep, Good Shepherd, guide me,
From the herd of goats divide me;

On Thy right hand guard and hide me.

When the doom'd depart, descending
Into burnings never ending,

Call me with Thy saints ascending.

Hear me ! contrite, lowly lying :
From the dust my heart is crying;
Save, O save my soul undying.

Woful day! when thunder-shaken,
From his ashes man shall waken,
And before the Judge be taken.

Then O God! to be forgiven !
Then let rest to me be given,
Mercy-loving Lord in heaven-Amen.

THOMAS OF CELANO, Thirteenth century.

53 Death, his horror not dissembling,
Sees creation rising, trembling;
And before the Judge assembling.

Comes that Judge His book unsealing
Secret writ of doom revealing,
All attent, but none appealing.

Wrongs for ages never righted,
Buried, rise to be recited;
Nothing there goes unrequited.

Ah what plea shall I then tender?
Whom invoke as my Defender,
When the holiest must surrender.

King of awful glory! ever

Of free grace the Sovereign Giver;
Fount of goodness! me deliver.

Think, good Lord, let it appease Thee,
That Thou camest to release me;
Lest the second death should seize me.

Weary, wayworn, Thou hast sought me,
By Thy cross salvation brought me;
Why in vain shouldst Thou have bought me?

Just Judge! piercing all disguises,
Save me ere that morning rises.
Bringing in the dread assizes.

See my soul its guilt unveiling,
Shame confessing, sin bewailing,
Mercy grant me all-availing.

49

Of God, all-overshadowing,

And not of man He draws His birth;
The Word eternal is made flesh,

And stoops, of woman born, to earth.

Her child the holy Virgin bears,

He comes with banners spread abroad,
Bright with the graces, where He moves
His temple is, for He is God.

Forth from His royal hall He comes,
Like a strong man his race to run;
The Son of man, the mighty God!
He rises like the rising sun.

Down from His Father's throne He comes,
Circling again above the sky;
His goings stretch beneath, to hell;
Thence upward to the throne on high.

O Thou! God's co-eternal Son,
Dost lift our flesh in triumph high;
And by Thine everlasting strength,
Dost make us that we cannot die.

Thy manger now with glory shines;
Its midnight breathes a radiance bright,
Whose sun no coming night can quench,
Or dim its ever-during light.

AMBROSE, A.D. 340-397.