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النشر الإلكتروني

Fair is the star of evening bright,

A gem in heaven's blue zone; And fair the moonlight's robe of white

O’er earth's green surface thrown;

But Alpine snow, nor crystal stream,

Can pure delight impart, Nor moon, nor evening planet's gleam,

To match the guileless heart.

For these material works of God

Of Him memorials stand,
And tell the Maker's power abroad,

The wonders of his hand :

But guileless truth and innocence,

By God to men consigned, Reflect his moral excellence, An image of his mind.

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,

Heap high the festal board!
The subject welcomes Israel's King;

The follower greets his Lord.

But who is he, the host, whose care

Provides the costly feast?
And who are they assembled there

Around the heavenly guest?

'Tis Matthew, 't is the publican;

The favored host is he
Who sat, a much despised man,

Beside Tiberias' sea.

And they, the guests assembled round,

They boast no better name; One in disgraceful union found,

Allied to sin and shame.

O holy Jesus, and are these

Associates meet for thee?
Is this the host thy soul to please,

And this the company?

“ Not to the righteous was I sent;

Not to the whole I cry;
I call the sinner to repent ;

The sick man's health am I.

“ For them my glory I resigned ;

For them endure the grave;
I came the wandering sheep to find,

The perishing to save.”

Shepherd of Israel! Saviour dear!

Whose voice thy duteous sheep Safe in thy fold delighted hear,

And to thy pasture keep;

Repentant, lo! to thee we turn,

To thee for health we pray ;
Give us what thou reveal'st to learn,
And what thou bidd'st obey.

Bp. Mant.

ANOTHER.

Ye hermits blest, ye holy maids,

The nearest heaven on earth,
Who talk with God in shadowy glades,

Free from rude care and mirth;
To whom some viewless teacher brings

The secret lore of rural things,
The moral of each fleeting cloud and gale,
The whispers from above, that haunt the twilight

vale ;

Say, when in pity ye have gazed

On the wreathed smoke afar,
That o’er some town, like mist upraised,

Hung, hiding sun and star,
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

For lack of leafy screen,
And Christian Hope can cheer the eye

That ne'er saw vernal green.
Then be ye sure that Love can bless

Even in this crowded wilderness,
Where ever-moving myriads seem to say
Go-thou art nought to us, nor we to thee-away!

There are in this loud stirring tide

Of human care and crime,
With whom the melodies abide

Of the everlasting chime;
Who

carry music in their heart
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

As thronging cares afford,
In thought to wander, fancy-blest,

To where their gracious Lord,
In vain, to win proud Pharisees,

Spake, and was heard by fell disease
But not in vain, beside yon breezy lake,
Bade the meek PUBLICAN his gainful seat forsake.

At once he rose, and left his gold;

His treasure and his heart
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

Where he vouchsafed to eat,
How the pure Master did not shrink

From touch of sinner's meat ;

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