« PreviousContinue »
We believe that thou shalt come to be our Judge.
We therefore pray thee, help thy servants, whom thou hast redeemed with thy precious blood.
Make them to be numbered with thy Saints, in glory everlasting
O Lord, save thy people, and bless thine heritage.
Govern them, and lift them up for ever.
Day by day we magnify thee;
And we worship thy name ever, world without end.
Vouchsafe, O Lord, to keep us this day without sin.
O Lord, have mercy upon us; have mercy upon us;
O Lord, let thy mercy lighten upon us, as our trust is in thee.
O Lord, in thee have I trusted: let me never be confounded.
Credimus te mox venturum
Fac beatis adscribamur,
Tuum tene populum.
Indies te honoramus,
Sine fine laudem damus.
Hodie nos tueare
Fulgeat pro spe fideli
Noli me confundere.
Beyond the Acherontian pool
The happy soul hath come: And hark, what music on the breeze? 'Twas like the tune of summer-bees,
A myriad-floating hum.
From spirits like himself it flow'd,
That melody of sound:
It is Elysian ground.
Are given these happy glades ; Where they, from all corruption free, In unrestricted liberty
May dwell, etherial shades. All shrubs for them of rich perfume, Amaracus and myrtle bloom,
And flowers of brightest hue,
THE SAME TRANSLATED.
Felix paludem trans Acherontiam
Sedes ad optatas piorum et
Elysios venit Umbra lucos: At vox susurrans innumerabilis Adfertur aures : qualis apum solet
Æstiva misceri caterva, et
Cum strepitu glomerare carmen; Gratantium illi turba sodalium Occurrit ingens : mollior halitus
Inspirat aurarum, micantque
Purpurei super arva coeli.
Virtute functis hic animis datur
Hic labis immunesque lethi
Aeriæ spatiantur Umbræ. Flores amoenos inter et arbores Errare passim est : hic et amaracus,
Laurique collatæque myrti
Dulcis odos, hyacinthinâque
The rose, the hyacinthine bell,
Are ever young and new.
And silver-sparkling rivers meet,
Their verdant shores along;
dale Of airy harp and nightingale
And babbling water-song.
There is no bound of time or place;
Advancing as he wills :
The tender bosom thrills.
And memory is unmixt with pain, Though consciousness they still retain
Of joys they left behind : Whate'er on earth they held most dear, To pure enjoyment hallow'd here
In golden dream they find.