All Things are Vanity. HEN mirth is full and free, All growth has bound; when greatest found, When the rich town, that long Rears its new structures vast, And vaunts, it shall not last. Bright tints that shine are but the sign When, too, thine eye surveys With fond adoring gaze And yearning heart thy friend, LYRA APOSTOLICA. The Parish Priest to his Successor. F thou dost find A house built to thy mind Without thy cost, Serve thou the more God and the poor; My labour is not lost. HERBERT. Omnia magna cadunt. ENTER soluti gaudia pectoris Summa sedens dominatur arce, Ultor securim praeparat. Omnia En qva per agros sparsa mapalia Et cum sodalem pectore sedulo Fluxus Amor properat tenebras. Qvaecumqve nobis sunt data munera Urgentur; indefessa longo Sola fides stabilitur aevo. Apto cum Lare Fundus. H. J. H. AEC tibi si cordi est, qvi nunc mea munia curas, K. The Lord is my Shepherd. Y Shepherd is the Lord; no care He calls my wandering spirit back I fear no evil, though my way Through death's dark valley lie; Thy cheerful oil anoints my head, where Still with thy love and goodness blest, Till life's last days are o'er, O Lord, for evermore. PSALM XXIII. CAMBRIDGE VERSION. B The Vanity of the World. ROTHER, know the world deceiveth: Fix not on the world thy trust; She feeds us, but she turns to dust: HEBER. Ἐγώ εἰμι ὁ Ποιμὴν ὁ ἀγαθός. ASTOR est mihi Deus, Qvo qvod sit aptum dante nil reqviro: Prata per virentia Me ducit, undae qva canunt amoenae. Custos pudendis a viis reducit; Recto, verendae sanctitatis auctor. Mortis atra sit licet Calcanda vallis, nil mali timebo, Dux enim manus tua est, Firmas euntem tu potente virga. Hostibus palam meis Lasso fruendam ponis ipse mensam ; Balsamis nitet caput Tuis, abundat te replente poclum. Sic amore provido, Dum vita restat, usqve me seqveris, Aede et in tua, Deus, Felix in omne commorabor aevum. K. M Vix ea nostra voco. UNDO nulla fides. Illi confidere praestat, P. P. Christian Warfare. OLDIER, go—but not to claim Mouldering spoils of earth-born treasure, Not to build a vaunting name, Not to dwell in tents of pleasure; Dream not that the way is smooth, Hope not that the thorns are roses; Turn no wistful eye of youth Thou hast sterner work to do, Hosts to cut thy passage through; Close behind thee gulfs are burning: Forward!—there is no returning. Soldier, rest-but not for thee Spreads the world her downy pillow; On the rock thy couch must be, While around thee chafes the billow ; Thine must be a watchful sleep, Wearier than another's waking; Such a charge as thou dost keep Girded, grasping sword and shield : Those thou canst not name or number Soldier, rise-the war is done : Lo, the hosts of hell are flying; 'Twas thy Lord the battle won; Jesus vanquished them by dying. |