Fair is the star of evening bright, A And fair the moonlight's robe of white O'er earth's green surface thrown; gem in heaven's blue zone; But Alpine snow, nor crystal stream, Nor moon, nor evening planet's gleam, For these material works of God But guileless truth and innocence, BP. MANT. SAINT MATTHEW'S DAY. SPETEMBER 21. COLLECT. O Almighty God, who by thy blessed Son didst call Matthew from the receipt of custom, to be an apostle and evangelist; grant us grace to forsake all covetous desires, and inordinate love of riches, and to follow the same thy Son Jesus Christ our Lord, who liveth and reigneth with thee, world without end. Amen. HYMN. Prepare the feast! the viands bring, But who is he, the host, whose care 'Tis MATTHEW, 't is the publican; Who sat, a much despised man, And they, the guests assembled round, O holy Jesus, and are these Is "Not to the righteous was I sent ; Not to the whole I cry; I call the sinner to repent; "For them my glory I resigned ; Shepherd of Israel! Saviour dear! Repentant, lo! to thee we turn, Give us what thou reveal'st to learn, And what thou bidd'st obey. BP. MANT. ANOTHER. Ye hermits blest, ye holy maids, To whom some viewless teacher brings The moral of each fleeting cloud and gale, vale ; Say, when in pity ye have gazed On the wreathed smoke afar, That o'er some town, like mist upraised, Then, as ye turned your weary eye To the green earth and open sky, Were ye not fain to doubt how Faith could dwell Amid that dreary glare, in this world's citadel? But Love's a flower that will not die And Christian Hope can cheer the eye Then be ye sure that Love can bless Where ever-moving myriads seem to say There are in this loud stirring tide Of the everlasting chime; Through dusky lane and wrangling mart, Plying their daily task with busier feet, Because their secret souls a holy strain repeat. How sweet to them, in such brief rest Bade the meek PUBLICAN his gainful seat forsake. At once he rose, and left his gold; Transferred, where he shall safe behold Earth and her idols part; While he beside his endless store Shall sit, and floods unceasing pour Of Christ's true riches o'er all time and space, First angel of his Church, first steward of his grace. Nor can ye not delight to think |