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Then the renewing Spirit came,

A rushing angel, swiftly sent,
And lighted up with sudden flame

The torch thy fingers grasped unspent ;
Within thy lips unlocked the spring
Of language, with His fiery wing,
While wondering nations gathered round,
And listened to the mystic sound.

As the swift light, in rapid showers,

Rains its quick way from tree to tree,
Awakes the many-coloured flowers,

And tints the ever-changing sea,
So, echoing fast from side to side,
The Spirit-voice was multiplied;
The Parthian heard his native tone,
Cretes and Arabians knew their own.

Ye who, on many a distant shore,

Have bent the knee to stock and stone,
To senseless idols cry no more,

Bow down to Christ, and Him alone!
Weary of yoke so hard and stern,
Shall not the earth to Him return,
And in His holy service find
A worship pure, a Master kind?

And you, O mothers, you, O wives

Just on the verge of motherhood,
Who fain would fence those unborn lives,

And weary Heaven to work them good,
Leave all your fancies fond or wise,
Your omens and idolatries,
And to this Holy One confide
Your children, to be sanctified.

And thou, poor slave, no longer sigh,

Amid thy sacred new-found bliss,
Nor watch with such a wistful eye

The free-born mother's happy kiss ;
Thou, in the kingdom of the Christ,
Art to the full as highly priced,
And, 'Suffer them to come to Me,'
Was written for thy babes and thee.

New liberty the heavens above

Announce this day to nations new,

New victories of faith and love,

New trials, and new glories too; Faith, that at terror learns to smile, Love, that no flatteries can beguile, Peace, which the world, laugh as it may, Can neither give nor take away.

O Holy Spirit, suppliants we

Before Thy solemn altars bow,
Thy scattered pilgrims hear and see,

In pathless forests wandering now;
Waves on a wide and desert sea,
Rolling around the world are we;
From Lebanon to Andes' snow,
A mingled people still we go.

A mingled race, yet one in Thee,

One heart, one blood, one human kind, Whether we bend the willing knee,

Or seek a Face we cannot find,
Be gracious to us all the more,
Descend, create, revive, restore,
O bid the doubting spirit live,
And to the vanquished mercy give.

Descend, O Love! in every heart

Its wrath and pride do Thou allay, And give us thoughts of holy rest

That need not shun the judgment day. Thy blessed gifts do nurse and feed Thy blessed self in us indeed; Thou art the Sun, whose holy shine Makes the slow bud a flower divine.

And though that flower, a lowly weed,

By the way-side ungathered die, Its death may be the fruitful seed

Of lovelier blossoms by-and-by; So life and death in subtile play Work in Thy mild transfusing ray, And never in that ceaseless strife, Is Death the vanquisher of Life.

Once more we pray: 0 Wind of God,

Come forth to gladden and console, Come as a breeze that drives abroad

The languors of the weary soul ;

But like a mighty tempest blow
Against the proud, and lay them low,
Till from their scattered fancies rise
True notions of self-sacrifice.

Through Thee the poor man lifts his face

Serenely to his proper heaven, Rejoicing at the wondrous grace

To him in all his sorrows given ; A likeness to the earthly state Of Him in Whom Thy gifts were great, And meted with no human spanWho yet was called the Son of Man.

Breathe, Holy Spirit, on our race,

Smile from our little children's eyes;
On every blushing maiden's face

Shed Thy immortal purities;
To those still sisters not to know
A dearer name, Thy pleasures show;
And consecrate the loving lives
Of faithful and obedient wives.

Temper the courage of our youth

With modesty and self-control;
Let manly purpose blend with truth,

And Truth be regent of the soul;
Upon the old man's hoary head
All calm and saintly graces shed;
And shine from those pathetic eyes,
Behind whose light the shadow lies.

M. C.


Jesu, lest we quail and falter

As we mount the chancel-stair, Fearing lest our hearts should palter,

Self-deceivers e'en in prayer, Teach us ere we seek Thine Altar

How to hail Thy Presence there.

Thine the gracious invitation,

Thine the Hand stretched out to bless, Only source of consolation,

Only Fount of righteousness, Come we in our degradation

To Thy Footstool for redress.

Thine the word creative spoken

By Thy servant in Thy stead, Thine the Body bruised and broken,

Thine the Blood so freely shed, Of Redeeming Love the token,

Now for us distributed.

As the woman's plague found healing

When she laid her hand on Thee, Oh, when at Thine Altar kneeling

Touch us sacramentally, As of old Thy love revealing,

Let us there Thy power see.

God Thou art, we would adore Thee;

Man Thou art, we need not fear; God made man, we bow before Thee,

Word made flesh, we Thee revere, By Thy promise we adjure Thee,

Saviour, may we find Thee here.

Oh, we know still unforsaken

Is Thy Church; Thy promise sure Still abides, the Rock unshaken

Which she rests upon secure, And till all the dead awaken

Shall the Eucharist endure.

Thus the Church with exultation,

Till her Lord return again, Shows His Death, His Mediation

Mingles with her worship then, Pleading both the Great Oblation

Offered on the Cross for men.

Lamb of God, the world's transgression

Thou alone canst take away,
Hear, oh hear our heart's confession,

And Thy pardoning grace convey ;
Thine availing Intercession

We but echo when we pray.

Now, dear Lord, Thy grace imploring,

We would mount Thine Altar-stair,
At Thy Feet would fall adoring,

For Thyself our souls prepare ;
Life-imparting, health restoring,
May we find Thy Presence there.

A. G.



St. Paul's Day, 1869, will be remembered with thankfulness and joy by the Church in South Africa through all generations, and doubtless also by all the faithful throughout the world. It was the day appointed by the Metropolitan for the consecration of the Bishop of the Church in Natal. With the exception of Bishop Tozer, who could not possibly have attended, all the Suffragan Bishops had arrived from their dioceses. These were the Bishops of Graham's Town, St. Helena, and the Orange River Free State; the last having undertaken a tedious overland journey of seventeen days, to assist at the Consecration.

On Sunday, 24th January, an act of special interest to Cape Town took place at the Cathedral Church of St. George, during Morning Service, and that was the installation of the new Dean, Mr. Alder, who was instituted and installed by the Bishop of Cape Town; and who afterwards preached on the text, 'I, if I be lifted up from the earth, will draw all men unto Me.'

In the evening, the Bishop of the Free State preached very earnestly on the text, But none of these things move me; neither count I my life dear unto myself, so that I might finish my course with joy, and the ministry which I have received of the Lord Jesus, to testify the Gospel of the grace of God.'

Monday morning rose bright and beautiful; there had been a threatening of a south-easter the day before, but this had entirely disappeared by the morning. Our feelings of joy, that the day had at length arrived which the Church has been desiring for years, were only restrained by a slight fear that some protest or confusion might disturb the solemnity of the Service. We had our own ordinary quiet Morning Service at seven o'clock. Then, after breakfast, the principal work was decoration of the infant school-room with banners and flowers, and the preparation of tables for a lunch, to be partaken of immediately after the Service. The Service was to begin at half-past eleven, but the cathedral was crowded long before. At length, the choir, who had robed in the VOL. 7.


PART 41.

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