WHAT THEN? And he who is himself the Gift and Giver- 463 JANE CREWDSON, What Then? HAT then? Why, then another pilgrim song; WHA And then a hush of rest, divinely granted; And then a thirsty stage (ah me, so long!) What then? The pitching of the evening tent; What then? The wailing of the midnight wind, Close by my pillow, ready for my waking. What then? I am not careful to inquire; I know there will be tears, and fears, and sorrow; And then, a loving Saviour drawing nigher, And saying "I will answer for the morrow." What then? For all my sins, his pardoning grace; And Christ's own hand to lead me in my blindness. What then? A shadowy valley, lone and dim; JANE CREWDSON. THE The Lord will come. HE Lord will come! the earth shall quake, The hills their fixed seat forsake; And, withering from the vault of night, The stars withdraw their feeble light. The Lord will come! but not the same A silent lamb to slaughter led, The bruised, the suffering, and the dead. The Lord will come! a dreadful form, Can this be he who wont to stray, Go, tyrants! to the rocks complain ! BISHOP HEBER. DI Dies Ira. IES IRE! DIES ILLA! Quantus tremor est futurus Qui Mariam absolvisti, Et latronem exaudisti, Mihi quoque spem dedisti. Preces meæ non sunt dignæ; Inter oves locum præsta, Confutatis maledictis, Oro supplex et acclints, Lacrymosa dies illa! Huic ergo parce, Deus! THOMAS DE CELANO. Dies Ira. AY of wrath! That day of mourning DAY Sees our earth to ashes turning ; Such the seer's and sibyl's warning. Ah! the dread each bosom rending, DIES IRÆ. When the trumpet's blast appalling, Death's stern heart what fear surprises, Opened are the awful pages, When the Judge shall take his station, Naught escape his stern probation. What shall I, poor wretch, be pleading? Ask what patron's interceding, When the righteous help is needing? King of majesty tremendous, Who dost free salvation send us, Save me, Source of love stupendous ! Think, O Jesus, kind and tender! Me thou sought'st with travail sorest; Righteous Judge of dread decision, Deep my guilty spirit sigheth; 467 |