Dream of Gerontius

 177. The Dream of Gerontius § 1. Gerontius JESU, MARIA I am near to death, And Thou art calling me; I know it now. Not by the token of this faltering breath, This chill at heart, this dampness on my brow, (Jesu, have mercy! Mary, pray for me!) 'Tis this new feeling, never felt before, (Be with me, Lord, in my extremity!) That I am going, that I am no more. 'Tis this strange innermost abandonment, (Lover of souls! great God! I look to Thee,) This emptying out of each constituent And natural force, by which I come to be. Pray for me, O my friends; a visitant Is knocking his dire summons at my door, The like of whom, to scare me and to daunt, Has never, never come to me before; 'Tis death, O loving friends, your prayers!-'tis he! and As though my very being had given way, As though I was no more a substance now, And could fall back on nought to be my stay, (Help, loving Lord! Thou my sole Refuge, Thou,) And turn no whither, but must needs decay And drop from out the universal frame Into that shapeless, scopeless, blank abyss, That utter nothingness, of which I came: This is it that has come to pass in me; Oh, horror! this it is, my dearest, this; So pray for me, my friends, who have not strength to pray.  Assistants Kyrie eleïson, Christe eleïson, Kyrie eleïson. Holy Mary, pray for him. All holy Angels, pray for him. Choirs of the righteous, pray for him. Holy Abraham, pray for him. St. John Baptist, St. Joseph, pray for him. St. Peter, St. Paul, St Andrew, St. John, All Apostles, all Evangelists, pray for him. All holy Disciples of the Lord, pray for him. All holy Innocents, pray for him. All holy Martyrs, all holy Confessors, All holy Hermits, all holy Virgins,  Gerontius Rouse thee, my fainting soul, and play the man; And through such waning span Of life and thought as still has to be trod, Prepare to meet thy God. And while the storm of that bewilderment Is for a season spent, And, ere afresh the ruin on me fall, Use well the interval.  Assistants Be merciful, be gracious; spare him, Lord. Be merciful, be gracious; Lord, deliver him. From the sins that are past; From Thy frown and Thine ire; From the perils of dying; From any complying With sin, or denying His God, or relying On self, at the last; From the nethermost fire; From all that is evil; From power of the devil; Thy servant deliver, For once and for ever.  By Thy birth, and by Thy Cross, Rescue him from endless loss; By Thy death and burial, Save him from a final fall; By Thy rising from the tomb, By Thy mounting up above, By the Spirit's gracious love, Save him in the day of doom.  Gerontius Sanctus fortis, Sanctus Deus, De profundis oro te, Miserere, Judex meus, Parce mihi, Domine. Firmly I believe and truly God is three, and God is One; And I next acknowledge duly Manhood taken by the Son. And I trust and hope most fully In that Manhood crucified; And each thought and deed unruly Do to death, as He has died. Simply to His grace and wholly Light and life and strength belong, And I love, supremely, solely, Him the holy, Him the strong. Sanctus fortis, Sanctus Deus, De profundis oro te, Miserere, Judex meus, Parce mihi, Domine. And I hold in veneration, For the love of Him alone, Holy Church, as His creation, And her teachings, as His own. And I take with joy whatever Now besets me, pain or fear, And with a strong will I sever All the ties which bind me here. Adoration aye be given, With and through the angelic host, To the God of earth and heaven, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Sanctus fortis, Sanctus Deus, De profundis oro te, Miserere, Judex meus, Mortis in discrimine.  I can no more; for now it comes again, That sense of ruin, which is worse than pain, That masterful negation and collapse Of all that makes me man; as though I bent Over the dizzy brink Of some sheer infinite descent; Or worse, as though Down, down for ever I was falling through The solid framework of created things, And needs must sink and sink Into the vast abyss. And, crueller still, A fierce and restless fright begins to fill The mansion of my soul. And, worse and worse, Some bodily form of ill Floats on the wind, with many a loathsome curse Tainting the hallow'd air, and laughs, and flaps Its hideous wings, And makes me wild with horror and dismay. O Jesu, help! pray for me, Mary, pray! Some Angel, Jesu! such as came to Thee In Thine own agony and Mary, pray for me. Joseph, pray for me. Mary, pray for me.  Assistants Rescue him, O Lord, in this his evil hour, As of old so many by Thy gracious power:  (Amen.) Enoch and Elias from the common doom; (Amen.) Noe from the waters in a saving home; (Amen.) Abraham from th' abounding guilt of Heathenesse;  (Amen.) Job from all his multiform and fell distress;  (Amen.) Isaac, when his father's knife was raised to slay;  (Amen.) Lot from burning Sodom on its judgment-day;  (Amen.) Moses from the land of bondage and despair;  (Amen.) Daniel from the hungry lions in their lair;  (Amen.) And the Children Three amid the furnace-flame;  (Amen.) Chaste Susanna from the slander and the shame;  (Amen.) David from Golia and the wrath of Saul;  (Amen.) And the two Apostles from their prison-thrall;  (Amen.) Thecla from her torments; (Amen:) so to show Thy power, Rescue this Thy servant in his evil hour.  Gerontius Novissima hora est; and I fain would sleep. The pain has weaned me ... Into Thy hands, O Lord, into Thy hands ...  The Priest Proficiscere, anima Christiana, de hoc mundo! Go forth upon thy journey, Christian soul! Go from this world! Go, in the Name of God The Omnipotent Father, who created thee! Go, in the Name of Jesus Christ, our Lord, Son of the living God, who bled for thee! Go, in the Name of the Holy Spirit, who Hath been pour'd out on thee! Go, in the name Of Angels and Archangels; in the name Of Thrones and Dominations; in the name Of Princedoms and of Powers; and in the name Of Cherubim and Seraphim, go forth! Go, in the name of Patriarchs and Prophets; And of Apostles and Evangelists, Of Martyrs and Confessors; in the name Of holy Monks and Hermits; in the name Of Holy Virgins; and all Saints of God, Both men and women, go! Go on thy course; And may thy place today be found in peace, And may thy dwelling be the Holy Mount Of Sion: through the Same, through Christ, our  Lord.  § 2. Soul of Gerontius I went to sleep; and now I am refresh'd, A strange refreshment: for I feel in me An inexpressive lightness, and a sense Of freedom, as I were at length myself, And ne'er had been before. How still it is! I hear no more the busy beat of time, No, nor my fluttering breath, nor struggling pulse;  Nor does one moment differ from the next. I had a dream; yes: some one softly said "He's gone;" and then a sigh went round the room. And then I surely heard a priestly voice Cry "Subvenite;" and they knelt in prayer. I seem to hear him still; but thin and low, And fainter and more faint the accents come, As at an ever-widening interval. Ah ! whence is this? What is this severance? This silence pours a solitariness Into the very essence of my soul; And the deep rest, so soothing and so sweet, Hath something too of sternness and of pain. For it drives back my thoughts upon their spring By a strange introversion, and perforce I now begin to feed upon myself,

 Because I have nought else to feed upon.  Am I alive or dead? I am not dead, But in the body still; for I possess A sort of confidence which clings to me, That each particular organ holds its place As heretofore, combining with the rest Into one symmetry, that wraps me round, And makes me man; and surely I could move, Did I but will it, every part of me. And yet I cannot to my sense bring home By very trial, that I have the power. 'Tis strange; I cannot stir a hand or foot, I cannot make my fingers or my lips By mutual pressure witness each to each, Nor by the eyelid's instantaneous stroke Assure myself I have a body still. Nor do I know my very attitude,

 Nor if I stand, or lie, or sit, or kneel.  So much I know, not knowing how I know, That the vast universe, where I have dwelt, Is quitting me, or I am quitting it. Or I or it is rushing on the wings Of light or lightning on an onward course, And we e'en now are million miles apart. Yet ... is this peremptory severance Wrought out in lengthening measurements of space Which grow and multiply by speed and time? Or am I traversing infinity By endless subdivision, hurrying back From finite towards infinitesimal,

 Thus dying out of the expansive world?  Another marvel: some one has me fast Within his ample palm; 'tis not a grasp Such as they use on earth, but all around Over the surface of my subtle being, As though I were a sphere, and capable To be accosted thus, a uniform And gentle pressure tells me I am not Self-moving, but borne forward on my way. And hark! I hear a singing; yet in sooth I cannot of that music rightly say Whether I hear, or touch, or taste the tones.

 Oh, what a heart-subduing melody!  Angel My work is done, My task is o'er,  And so I come,  Taking it home, For the crown is won,  Alleluia, For evermore.  My Father gave In charge to me  This child of earth  E'en from its birth, To serve and save,  Alleluia, And saved is he.  This child of clay To me was given,  To rear and train  By sorrow and pain In the narrow way,  Alleluia,

 From earth to heaven.  Soul It is a member of that family Of wondrous beings, who, ere the worlds were made, Millions of ages back, have stood around The throne of God: he never has known sin But through those cycles all but infinite, Has had a strong and pure celestial life, And bore to gaze on the unveil'd face of God, And drank from the everlasting Fount of truth, And served Him with a keen ecstatic love. Hark! he begins again.  Angel O Lord, how wonderful in depth and height,  But most in man, how wonderful Thou art! With what a love, what soft persuasive might  Victorious o'er the stubborn fleshly heart, Thy tale complete of saints Thou dost provide, To fill the thrones which angels lost through pride!  He lay a grovelling babe upon the ground,  Polluted in the blood of his first sire, With his whole essence shatter'd and unsound,  And coil'd around his heart a demon dire, Which was not of his nature, but had skill To bind and form his op'ning mind to ill.  Then was I sent from heaven to set right  The balance in his soul of truth and sin, And I have waged a long relentless fight,  Resolved that death-environ'd spirit to win, Which from its fallen state, when all was lost, Had been repurchased at so dread a cost.  Oh, what a shifting parti-colour'd scene  Of hope and fear, of triumph and dismay, Of recklessness and penitence, has been  The history of that dreary, life-long fray! And oh, the grace to nerve him and to lead, How patient, prompt, and lavish at his need!  O man, strange composite of heaven and earth!  Majesty dwarf'd to baseness! fragrant flower Running to poisonous seed! and seeming worth  Cloking corruption! weakness mastering power! Who never art so near to crime and shame, As when thou hast achieved some deed of name;  How should ethereal natures comprehend  A thing made up of spirit and of clay, Were we not task'd to nurse it and to tend,  Link'd one to one throughout its mortal day? More than the Seraph in his height of place, The Angel-guardian knows and loves the ran

  som'd race.  Soul Now know I surely that I am at length Out of the body; had I part with earth, I never could have drunk those accents in, And not have worshipp'd as a god the voice That was so musical; but now I am So whole of heart, so calm, so self-possess'd, With such a full content, and with a sense So apprehensive and discriminant, As no temptation can intoxicate. Nor have I even terror at the thought That I am clasp'd by such a saintliness.  Angel All praise to Him, at whose sublime decree  The last are first, the first become the last; By whom the suppliant prisoner is set free,  By whom proud first-borns from their thrones are cast; Who raises Mary to be Queen of heaven, While Lucifer is left, condemn'd and unforgiven.  § 3. Soul I will address him. Mighty one, my Lord, My Guardian Spirit, all hail!  Angel  All hail, my child! My child and brother, hail! what wouldest thou?  Soul I would have nothing but to speak with thee For speaking's sake. I wish to hold with thee Conscious communion; though I fain would know A maze of things, were it but meet to ask, And not a curiousness.  Angel  You cannot now Cherish a wish which ought not to be wish'd.  Soul Then I will speak. I ever had believed That on the moment when the struggling soul Quitted its mortal case, forthwith it fell Under the awful Presence of its God, There to be judged and sent to its own place. What lets me now from going to my Lord?  Angel Thou art not let; but with extremest speed Art hurrying to the Just and Holy Judge: For scarcely art thou disembodied yet. Divide a moment, as men measure time, Into its million-million-millionth part, Yet even less than that the interval Since thou didst leave the body; and the priest Cried "Subvenite," and they fell to prayer;

 Nay, scarcely yet have they begun to pray.  For spirits and men by different standards mete The less and greater in the flow of time. By sun and moon, primeval ordinances By stars which rise and set harmoniously By the recurring seasons, and the swing, This way and that, of the suspended rod Precise and punctual, men divide the hours, Equal, continuous, for their common use. Not so with us in the immaterial world; But intervals in their succession Are measured by the living thought alone, And grow or wane with its intensity. And time is not a common property; But what is long is short, and swift is slow, And near is distant, as received and grasp'd By this mind and by that, and every one Is standard of his own chronology. And memory lacks its natural resting-points Of years, and centuries, and periods. It is thy very energy of thought

 Which keeps thee from thy God.  Soul Dear Angel, say, Why have I now no fear at meeting Him? Along my earthly life, the thought of death And judgment was to me most terrible. I had it aye before me, and I saw The Judge severe e'en in the Crucifix. Now that the hour is come, my fear is fled; And at this balance of my destiny, Now close upon me, I can forward look

 With a serenest joy.  Angel It is because Then thou didst fear, that now thou dost not fear, Thou hast forestall'd the agony, and so For thee the bitterness of death is past. Also, because already in thy soul The judgment is begun. That day of doom, One and the same for the collected world, That solemn consummation for all flesh, Is, in the case of each, anticipate Upon his death; and, as the last great day In the particular judgment is rehearsed, So now, too, ere thou comest to the Throne, A presage falls upon thee, as a ray Straight from the Judge, expressive of thy lot. That calm and joy uprising in thy soul Is first-fruit to thee of thy recompense,

 And heaven begun.  § 4. Soul  But hark! upon my sense Comes a fierce hubbub, which would make me fear  Could I be frighted.  Angel We are now arrived Close on the judgment-court; that sullen howl Is from the demons who assemble there. It is the middle region, where of old Satan appeared among the sons of God, To cast his jibes and scoffs at holy Job. So now his legions throng the vestibule, Hungry and wild, to claim their property, And gather souls for hell. Hist to their cry.  Soul How sour and how uncouth a dissonance!  Demons Low-born clods  Of brute earth They aspire To become gods,  By a new birth, And an extra grace,  And a score of merits,  As if aught Could stand in place Of the high thought, And the glance of fire Of the great spirits, The powers blest, The lords by right, The primal owners,  Of the proud dwelling And realm of light, Dispossess'd, Aside thrust, Chuck'd down  By the sheer might  Of a despot's will, Of a tyrant's frown,  Who after expelling  Their hosts, gave,  Triumphant still,  And still unjust, Each forfeit crown To psalm-droners, And canting groaners,  To every slave, And pious cheat,  And crawling knave, Who lick'd the dust  Under his feet.  Angel It is the restless panting of their being; Like beasts of prey, who, caged within their bars, In a deep hideous purring have their life, And an incessant pacing to and fro.  Demons  The mind bold And independent, The purpose free,  So we are told,  Must not think To have the ascendant  What's a saint? One whose breath  Doth the air taint Before his death;  A bundle of bones, Which fools adore,  Ha! ha! When life is o'er;  Which rattle and stink, E'en in the flesh.  We cry his pardon! No flesh hath he; Ha! ha! For it hath died, 'Tis crucified Day by day, Afresh, afresh,  Ha! ha! That holy clay, Ha! ha!  This gains guerdon, So priestlings prate, Ha! ha! Before the Judge,  And pleads and atones For spite and grudge,  And bigot mood, And envy and hate,  And greed of blood.  Soul How impotent they are! and yet on earth They have repute for wondrous power and skill; And books describe, how that the very face Of the Evil One, if seen, would have a force Even to freeze the blood, and choke the life Of him who saw it.  Angel  In thy trial-state Thou hadst a traitor nestling close at home, Connatural, who with the powers of hell Was leagued, and of thy senses kept the keys, And to that deadliest foe unlock'd thy heart. And therefore is it, in respect of man, Those fallen ones show so majestical. But, when some child of grace, Angel or Saint, Pure and upright in his integrity Of nature, meets the demons on their raid, They scud away as cowards from the fight. Nay, oft hath holy hermit in his cell, Not yet disburden'd of mortality, Mock'd at their threats and warlike overtures; Or, dying, when they swarm'd, like flies, around, Defied them, and departed to his Judge.  Demons Virtue and vice,  A knave's pretence,  'Tis all the same;  Ha! ha!  Dread of hell-fire,  Of the venomous flame, A coward's plea. Give him his price, Saint though he be, Ha! ha!  From shrewd good sense  He'll slave for hire  Ha! ha!  And does but aspire To the heaven above  With sordid aim, And not from love. Ha! ha!  Soul I see not those false spirits; shall I see My dearest Master, when I reach His Throne? Or hear, at least, His awful judgment-word With personal intonation, as I now Hear thee, not see thee, Angel? Hitherto All has been darkness since I left the earth; Shall I remain thus sight-bereft all through My penance-time? If so, how comes it then That I have hearing still, and taste, and touch, Yet not a glimmer of that princely sense Which binds ideas in one, and makes them live?  Angel Nor touch, nor taste, nor hearing hast thou  now; Thou livest in a world of signs and types, The presentations of most holy truths, Living and strong, which now encompass thee. A disembodied soul, thou hast by right No converse with aught else beside thyself; But, lest so stern a solitude should load And break thy being, in mercy are vouchsafed Some lower measures of perception, Which seem to thee, as though through channels  brought, Through ear, or nerves, or palate, which are  gone. And thou art wrapp'd and swathed around in  dreams, Dreams that are true, yet enigmatical; For the belongings of thy present state, Save through such symbols, come not home to  thee. And thus thou tell'st of space, and time, and  size, Of fragrant, solid, bitter, musical, Of fire, and of refreshment after fire; As (let me use similitude of earth, To aid thee in the knowledge thou dost ask) As ice which blisters may be said to burn. Nor hast thou now extension, with its parts Correlative, long habit cozens thee, Nor power to move thyself, nor limbs to move. Hast thou not heard of those, who after loss Of hand or foot, still cried that they had pains In hand or foot, as though they had it still? So is it now with thee, who hast not lost Thy hand or foot, but all which made up man. So will it be, until the joyous day Of resurrection, when thou wilt regain All thou hast lost, new-made and glorified. How, even now, the consummated Saints See God in heaven, I may not explicate; Meanwhile, let it suffice thee to possess Such means of converse as are granted thee, Though, till that Beatific Vision, thou art blind; For e'en thy purgatory, which comes like fire, Is fire without its light.  Soul His will be done! I am not worthy e'er to see again The face of day; far less His countenance, Who is the very sun. Natheless in life, When I looked forward to my purgatory, It ever was my solace to believe, That, ere I plunged amid the avenging flame, I had one sight of Him to strengthen me.  Angel Nor rash nor vain is that presentiment; Yes, for one moment thou shalt see thy Lord. Thus will it be: what time thou art arraign'd Before the dread tribunal, and thy lot Is cast for ever, should it be to sit On His right hand among His pure elect, Then sight, or that which to the soul is sight, As by a lightning-flash, will come to thee, And thou shalt see, amid the dark profound, Whom thy soul loveth, and would fain approach, One moment; but thou knowest not, my child, What thou dost ask: that sight of the Most Fair Will gladden thee, but it will pierce thee too.  Soul Thou speakest darkly, Angel; and an awe Falls on me, and a fear lest I be rash.  Angel There was a mortal, who is now above In the mid glory: he, when near to die, Was given communion with the Crucified, Such, that the Master's very wounds were stamp'd Upon his flesh; and, from the agony Which thrill'd through body and soul in that  embrace, Learn that the flame of the Everlasting Love Doth burn ere it transform ...  § 5.  .... Hark to those sounds! They come of tender beings angelical, Least and most childlike of the Sons of God.  First Choir of Angelicals  Praise to the Holiest in the height,  And in the depth be praise:  In all His words most wonderful;  Most sure in all His ways!   To us His elder race He gave  To battle and to win,  Without the chastisement of pain,  Without the soil of sin.   The younger son He will'd to be  A marvel in His birth:  Spirit and flesh his parents were;  His home was heaven and earth.   The Eternal bless'd His child, and arm'd,  And sent him hence afar,  To serve as champion in the field  Of elemental war.   To be His Viceroy in the world  Of matter, and of sense;  Upon the frontier, towards the foe  A resolute defence.  Angel We now have pass'd the gate, and are within The House of Judgment; and whereas on earth Temples and palaces are form'd of parts Costly and rare, but all material, So in the world of spirits nought is found, To mould withal, and form into a whole, But what is immaterial; and thus The smallest portions of this edifice, Cornice, or frieze, or balustrade, or stair, The very pavement is made up of life Of holy, blessed, and immortal beings, Who hymn their Maker's praise continually.  Second Choir of Angelicals  Praise to the Holiest in the height,  And in the depth be praise:  In all His words most wonderful;  Most sure in all His ways!   Woe to thee, man! for he was found  A recreant in the fight;  And lost his heritage of heaven,  And fellowship with light.   Above him now the angry sky,  Around the tempest's din;  Who once had Angels for his friends,  Had but the brutes for kin.   O man! a savage kindred they;  To flee that monster brood  He scaled the seaside cave, and clomb  The giants of the wood.   With now a fear, and now a hope,  With aids which chance supplied,  From youth to eld, from sire to son,  He lived, and toil'd, and died.   He dreed his penance age by age;  And step by step began  Slowly to doff his savage garb,  And be again a man.   And quicken'd by the Almighty's breath,  And chasten'd by His rod,  And taught by angel-visitings,  At length he sought his God;   And learn'd to call upon His Name,  And in His faith create  A household and a father-land,  A city and a state.   Glory to Him who from the mire,  In patient length of days,  Elaborated into life  A people to His praise!  Soul The sound is like the rushing of the wind The summer wind among the lofty pines; Swelling and dying, echoing round about, Now here, now distant, wild and beautiful; While, scatter'd from the branches it has stirr'd, Descend ecstatic odours.  Third Choir of Angelicals  Praise to the Holiest in the height,  And in the depth be praise:  In all His words most wonderful;  Most sure in all His ways!   The Angels, as beseemingly  To spirit-kind was given,  At once were tried and perfected,  And took their seats in heaven.   For them no twilight or eclipse;  No growth and no decay:  'Twas hopeless, all-ingulfing night,  Or beatific day.   But to the younger race there rose  A hope upon its fall;  And slowly, surely, gracefully,  The morning dawn'd on all.   And ages, opening out, divide  The precious, and the base,  And from the hard and sullen mass  Mature the heirs of grace.   O man! albeit the quickening ray,  Lit from his second birth,  Makes him at length what once he was,  And heaven grows out of earth;   Yet still between that earth and heaven  His journey and his goal  A double agony awaits  His body and his soul.   A double debt he has to pay  The forfeit of his sins:  The chill of death is past, and now  The penance-fire begins.   Glory to Him, who evermore  By truth and justice reigns;  Who tears the soul from out its case,  And burns away its stains!  Angel They sing of thy approaching agony, Which thou so eagerly didst question of: It is the face of the Incarnate God Shall smite thee with that keen and subtle pain; And yet the memory which it leaves will be A sovereign febrifuge to heal the wound; And yet withal it will the wound provoke, And aggravate and widen it the more.  Soul Thou speakest mysteries; still methinks I know To disengage the tangle of thy words: Yet rather would I hear thy angel voice, Than for myself be thy interpreter.  Angel When then if such thy lot thou seest thy Judge, The sight of Him will kindle in thy heart All tender, gracious, reverential thoughts. Thou wilt be sick with love, and yearn for Him, And feel as though thou couldst but pity Him, That one so sweet should e'er have placed Himself At disadvantage such, as to be used So vilely by a being so vile as thee. There is a pleading in His pensive eyes Will pierce thee to the quick, and trouble thee. And thou wilt hate and loathe thyself; for, though Now sinless, thou wilt feel that thou hast sinn'd, As never thou didst feel; and wilt desire To slink away, and hide thee from His sight: And yet wilt have a longing aye to dwell Within the beauty of His countenance. And these two pains, so counter and so keen, The longing for Him, when thou seest Him not; The shame of self at thought of seeing Him, Will be thy veriest, sharpest purgatory.  Soul My soul is in my hand: I have no fear, In His dear might prepared for weal or woe. But hark! a grand, mysterious harmony: It floods me like the deep and solemn sound Of many waters.  Angel  We have gain'd the stairs Which rise towards the Presence-chamber; there A band of mighty Angels keep the way On either side, and hymn the Incarnate God.  Angels of the Sacred Stair Father, whose goodness none can know, but they  Who see Thee face to face, By man hath come the infinite display  Of thy victorious grace; But fallen man the creature of a day  Skills not that love to trace. It needs, to tell the triumph Thou hast wrought, An Angel's deathless fire, an Angel's reach of  thought.  It needs that very Angel, who with awe,  Amid the garden shade, The great Creator in His sickness saw,  Soothed by a creature's aid, And agonized, as victim of the Law  Which He Himself had made; For who can praise Him in His depth and height, But he who saw Him reel amid that solitary fight?  Soul Hark! for the lintels of the presence-gate Are vibrating and echoing back the strain.  Fourth Choir of Angelicals  Praise to the Holiest in the height,  And in the depth be praise:  In all His words most wonderful;  Most sure in all His ways!   The foe blasphemed the Holy Lord,  As if He reckon'd ill,  In that He placed His puppet man  The frontier place to fill.   For, even in his best estate,  With amplest gifts endued,  A sorry sentinel was he,  A being of flesh and blood.   As though a thing, who for his help  Must needs possess a wife,  Could cope with those proud rebel hosts  Who had angelic life.   And when, by blandishment of Eve,  That earth-born Adam fell,  He shriek'd in triumph, and he cried,  "A sorry sentinel;   "The Maker by His word is bound,  Escape or cure is none;  He must abandon to his doom,  And slay His darling son."  Angel And now the threshold, as we traverse it, Utters aloud its glad responsive chant.  Fifth Choir of Angelicals  Praise to the Holiest in the height  And in the depth be praise:  In all His words most wonderful;  Most sure in all His ways!   O loving wisdom of our God!  When all was sin and shame,  A second Adam to the fight  And to the rescue came.   O wisest love! that flesh and blood  Which did in Adam fail,  Should strive afresh against the foe,  Should strive and should prevail;   And that a higher gift than grace  Should flesh and blood refine,  God's Presence and His very Self,  And Essence all-divine.   O generous love! that He who smote  In man for man the foe,  The double agony in man  For man should undergo;   And in the garden secretly,  And on the cross on high,  Should teach His brethren and inspire  To suffer and to die.  § 6. Angel Thy judgment now is near, for we are come  Into the veilèd presence of our God.  Soul I hear the voices that I left on earth.  Angel It is the voice of friends around thy bed, Who say the "Subvenite" with the priest. Hither the echoes come; before the Throne Stands the great Angel of the Agony, The same who strengthen'd Him, what time He  knelt Lone in that garden shade, bedew'd with blood. That Angel best can plead with Him for all Tormented souls, the dying and the dead.  Angel of the Agony Jesu! by that shuddering dread which fell on Thee; Jesu! by that cold dismay which sicken'd Thee; Jesu! by that pang of heart which thrill'd in Thee; Jesu! by that mount of sins which crippled Thee; Jesu! by that sense of guilt which stifled Thee; Jesu! by that innocence which girdled Thee; Jesu! by that sanctity which reign'd in Thee; Jesu! by that Godhead which was one with Thee; Jesu! spare these souls which are so dear to Thee; Souls, who in prison, calm and patient, wait for Thee; Hasten, Lord, their hour, and bid them come to Thee, To that glorious Home, where they shall ever gaze on Thee.  Soul I go before my Judge. Ah! and.  Angel  and. Praise to His Name! The eager spirit has darted from my hold, And, with the intemperate energy of love, Flies to the dear feet of Emmanuel; But, ere it reach them, the keen sanctity, Which with its effluence, like a glory, clothes And circles round the Crucified, has seized, And scorch'd, and shrivell'd it; and now it lies Passive and still before the awful Throne. O happy, suffering soul! for it is safe, Consumed, yet quicken'd, by the glance of God.  Soul Take me away, and in the lowest deep  There let me be, And there in hope the lone night-watches keep,  Told out for me. There, motionless and happy in my pain,  Lone, not forlorn, There will I sing my sad perpetual strain,  Until the morn. There will I sing, and soothe my stricken breast,  Which ne'er can cease To throb, and pine, and languish, till possest  Of its Sole Peace. There will I sing my absent Lord and Love:  Take me away, That sooner I may rise, and go above, And see Him in the truth of everlasting day.  § 7. Angel Now let the golden prison ope its gates, Making sweet music, as each fold revolves Upon its ready hinge. And ye, great powers, Angels of Purgatory, receive from me My charge, a precious soul, until the day, When, from all bond and forfeiture released, I shall reclaim it for the courts of light.  Souls in Purgatory 1. Lord, Thou hast been our refuge: in every generation;  2. Before the hills were born, and the world was:  from age to age Thou art God.  3. Bring us not, Lord, very low: for Thou hast said, Come back again, ye sons of Adam.  4. A thousand years before Thine eyes are but as yesterday: and as a watch of the night which is come and gone.  5. The grass springs up in the morning: at evening tide it shrivels up and dies.  6. So we fail in Thine anger: and in Thy wrath are we troubled.  7. Thou hast set our sins in Thy sight: and our round of days in the light of Thy countenance.  8. Come back, O Lord! how long: and be entreated for Thy servants.  9. In Thy morning we shall be filled with Thy mercy: we shall rejoice and be in pleasure all our days.  10. We shall be glad according to the days of our humiliation: and the years in which we have seen evil.  11. Look, O Lord, upon Thy servants and on Thy work: and direct their children.  12. And let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us: and the work of our hands, establish Thou it.  Glory be to the Father, and to the Son: and to the Holy Ghost. As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be: world without end. Amen.  Angel Softly and gently, dearly-ransom'd soul, In my most loving arms I now enfold thee, And, o'er the penal waters, as they roll, I poise thee, and I lower thee, and hold thee.  And carefully I dip thee in the lake, And thou, without a sob or a resistance, Dost through the flood thy rapid passage take, Sinking deep, deeper, into the dim distance.  Angels, to whom the willing task is given, Shall tend, and nurse, and lull thee, as thou  liest; And masses on the earth, and prayers in heaven, Shall aid thee at the Throne of the Most  Highest.  Farewell, but not for ever! brother dear, Be brave and patient on thy bed of sorrow; Swiftly shall pass thy night of trial here, And I will come and wake thee on the morrow.  The Oratory .  January, 1865.