Oh! Bliss Immortal! hail! all hail!
All glory, honour to the Lamb who died!
Now seated glorious at His Father side.
Sound through the Universe his Name!
His matchless Love his Fame proclaim!
Till all His foes are put to shame.
And let the story of the cross prevail
O’er every mountain, island, hill, and dale,
Of the wide world, and Satan’s power destroy,—
The wondrous news thrills every heart with joy—
Wafted on every breeze, by every swelling gale,
Till sin and suffering, shame and sorrows fail;
’Gainst Love Omnipotent no force prevail;
Till all His foes subdued shall bow the knee
To Him who died on Calvary’s bloody tree,
For lost and guilty men, of every race,
Of every nation, station, time and place.
Oh swell the joyful notes of Jubilee!
The year of Grace! the year of Liberty!
Burst! burst! ye prison bars! let man be free!
He died for all, of every tribe and hue,
Anglican, Indian, Ethiop, Greek and Jew.
All, all are welcome! wide heaven’s gates expand;
Thereevery name is known from every land,
Thereburst hosannas, Heaven’s loud acclaim,
O’er every new-arrived, his name they name.
While all the blood-washed throng,
In accents loud and long,
Their rapturous joy proclaim,
Shouting and singing, Glory to the Lamb!
All praise to Him who sits upon the Throne,
Who rules the universe, the Lord alone!
Jehovah, Jesus, Savior, Great I AM!
To Him who bought us
With His precious blood;
To Him who brought us
To this Bright Abode,
Of perfect blessedness,
And Everlasting Peace,
“The Bosom of Our Father and our God!”
LINES
SUGGESTED ON HEARING REV. MR. RAND’S DESCRIPTION OF THE LAST HOURS OF JOHN PAUL, A CONVERTED MICMAC.
On the floor of his wigwam an Indian lay,And his spirit was rapidly passing away;On his brow stood the dewdrop of death, thick and chill,And the life-pulse once bounding was fast growing still;He spoke to his friends as they gathered around,All eager to list to the last fainting soundOf the voice that had cheered them in council or fight.Mid the fires of the wigwam or shadows of night,He told them his prospects, but oh, what were theseTo guide his frail bark o’er the transparent seasWhose ripple waters no storm surge ere swells,In the far distant land where the “Great Spirit” dwells.Or fearless and free through the hunting grounds roam,Where death as a visitor shall never more come?Ah, no—but the fulness and greenness of grace,The power of Jesus to save their lost race;This, this was the theme—for to him had been givenA vision of glory, of God, and of Heaven!He saw the paved streets which like burnished gold shone,And highly exalted sat Christ on His throne;While the angels were circling within their bright home,And shouting triumphantly “John Paul has come!”The Indian fell back on his skin-covered bed,And soon he was one of earth’s numberless dead;But his spirit had passed to its home in the sky,To enjoy the full vision of glory on high.Oh servant of Christ, speed thee on in thy work!Thy mission of love—and though dangers should lurkIn each step of thy pathway—yet onward still moveRejoicing to know that thy God doth approve—And oh, if e’er weary or faint by the way,Thy footsteps from duty are tempted to stray,Remember one Micmac looks down from above,The fruit of thy labour, the fruit of thy love;The pledge which to thee by thy God hath been given,That the seed sown on earth shall be garnered in Heaven.* * * * *
On the floor of his wigwam an Indian lay,And his spirit was rapidly passing away;On his brow stood the dewdrop of death, thick and chill,And the life-pulse once bounding was fast growing still;He spoke to his friends as they gathered around,All eager to list to the last fainting soundOf the voice that had cheered them in council or fight.Mid the fires of the wigwam or shadows of night,He told them his prospects, but oh, what were theseTo guide his frail bark o’er the transparent seasWhose ripple waters no storm surge ere swells,In the far distant land where the “Great Spirit” dwells.Or fearless and free through the hunting grounds roam,Where death as a visitor shall never more come?Ah, no—but the fulness and greenness of grace,The power of Jesus to save their lost race;This, this was the theme—for to him had been givenA vision of glory, of God, and of Heaven!He saw the paved streets which like burnished gold shone,And highly exalted sat Christ on His throne;While the angels were circling within their bright home,And shouting triumphantly “John Paul has come!”The Indian fell back on his skin-covered bed,And soon he was one of earth’s numberless dead;But his spirit had passed to its home in the sky,To enjoy the full vision of glory on high.Oh servant of Christ, speed thee on in thy work!Thy mission of love—and though dangers should lurkIn each step of thy pathway—yet onward still moveRejoicing to know that thy God doth approve—And oh, if e’er weary or faint by the way,Thy footsteps from duty are tempted to stray,Remember one Micmac looks down from above,The fruit of thy labour, the fruit of thy love;The pledge which to thee by thy God hath been given,That the seed sown on earth shall be garnered in Heaven.* * * * *
On the floor of his wigwam an Indian lay,And his spirit was rapidly passing away;On his brow stood the dewdrop of death, thick and chill,And the life-pulse once bounding was fast growing still;He spoke to his friends as they gathered around,All eager to list to the last fainting soundOf the voice that had cheered them in council or fight.Mid the fires of the wigwam or shadows of night,He told them his prospects, but oh, what were theseTo guide his frail bark o’er the transparent seasWhose ripple waters no storm surge ere swells,In the far distant land where the “Great Spirit” dwells.Or fearless and free through the hunting grounds roam,Where death as a visitor shall never more come?Ah, no—but the fulness and greenness of grace,The power of Jesus to save their lost race;This, this was the theme—for to him had been givenA vision of glory, of God, and of Heaven!He saw the paved streets which like burnished gold shone,And highly exalted sat Christ on His throne;While the angels were circling within their bright home,And shouting triumphantly “John Paul has come!”The Indian fell back on his skin-covered bed,And soon he was one of earth’s numberless dead;But his spirit had passed to its home in the sky,To enjoy the full vision of glory on high.Oh servant of Christ, speed thee on in thy work!Thy mission of love—and though dangers should lurkIn each step of thy pathway—yet onward still moveRejoicing to know that thy God doth approve—And oh, if e’er weary or faint by the way,Thy footsteps from duty are tempted to stray,Remember one Micmac looks down from above,The fruit of thy labour, the fruit of thy love;The pledge which to thee by thy God hath been given,That the seed sown on earth shall be garnered in Heaven.* * * * *
On the floor of his wigwam an Indian lay,
And his spirit was rapidly passing away;
On his brow stood the dewdrop of death, thick and chill,
And the life-pulse once bounding was fast growing still;
He spoke to his friends as they gathered around,
All eager to list to the last fainting sound
Of the voice that had cheered them in council or fight.
Mid the fires of the wigwam or shadows of night,
He told them his prospects, but oh, what were these
To guide his frail bark o’er the transparent seas
Whose ripple waters no storm surge ere swells,
In the far distant land where the “Great Spirit” dwells.
Or fearless and free through the hunting grounds roam,
Where death as a visitor shall never more come?
Ah, no—but the fulness and greenness of grace,
The power of Jesus to save their lost race;
This, this was the theme—for to him had been given
A vision of glory, of God, and of Heaven!
He saw the paved streets which like burnished gold shone,
And highly exalted sat Christ on His throne;
While the angels were circling within their bright home,
And shouting triumphantly “John Paul has come!”
The Indian fell back on his skin-covered bed,
And soon he was one of earth’s numberless dead;
But his spirit had passed to its home in the sky,
To enjoy the full vision of glory on high.
Oh servant of Christ, speed thee on in thy work!
Thy mission of love—and though dangers should lurk
In each step of thy pathway—yet onward still move
Rejoicing to know that thy God doth approve—
And oh, if e’er weary or faint by the way,
Thy footsteps from duty are tempted to stray,
Remember one Micmac looks down from above,
The fruit of thy labour, the fruit of thy love;
The pledge which to thee by thy God hath been given,
That the seed sown on earth shall be garnered in Heaven.
* * * * *
Chatham, October, 1856.
These lines were given to me by Senator Ferguson, who thinks they must have been written by Rev. Mr. Knight, Sr., who retired from the Methodist ministry and lived in Chatham. Dr. Rand had never seen them, but the Senator remembers having repeated most of the little poem to him on the occasion of a visit from the Doctor at Tulloch.—(J. S. C.)
These lines were given to me by Senator Ferguson, who thinks they must have been written by Rev. Mr. Knight, Sr., who retired from the Methodist ministry and lived in Chatham. Dr. Rand had never seen them, but the Senator remembers having repeated most of the little poem to him on the occasion of a visit from the Doctor at Tulloch.—(J. S. C.)
the sun-bright clime.
Have you heard, have you heard of that sun-bright clime,Undimmed by tears and uncursed by crime,There death hath the power no more to reign,For they live forever, and they know no pain,—Have you heard of that sun-bright clime?There’s a city fair, ’tis the saint’s sweet home,There they ne’er shall know night’s gathering gloom,With its gates of pearl, and its streets of gold,It shines in the glory of God untold,Over there in that sun-bright clime.A river of water gushes thereMidst flowers of beauty strangely rare,And rich-plumed songsters flit through the bowersOf the tree of life on those golden shores,Over there in that sun-bright clime.Soon the ransomed host, all robed in white,Will reach those fields of pure delight,And pluck rich-fruit from the life-tree bowersMid a thousand hues of those fadeless flowers,Over there in that sun-bright clime.Not far far away is that sun-bright clime,For now we are nearing the promised timeWhen the Lord will come for his bride in white,Then we’ll bid adieu to those scenes of night,And go home to that sun-bright clime.
Have you heard, have you heard of that sun-bright clime,Undimmed by tears and uncursed by crime,There death hath the power no more to reign,For they live forever, and they know no pain,—Have you heard of that sun-bright clime?There’s a city fair, ’tis the saint’s sweet home,There they ne’er shall know night’s gathering gloom,With its gates of pearl, and its streets of gold,It shines in the glory of God untold,Over there in that sun-bright clime.A river of water gushes thereMidst flowers of beauty strangely rare,And rich-plumed songsters flit through the bowersOf the tree of life on those golden shores,Over there in that sun-bright clime.Soon the ransomed host, all robed in white,Will reach those fields of pure delight,And pluck rich-fruit from the life-tree bowersMid a thousand hues of those fadeless flowers,Over there in that sun-bright clime.Not far far away is that sun-bright clime,For now we are nearing the promised timeWhen the Lord will come for his bride in white,Then we’ll bid adieu to those scenes of night,And go home to that sun-bright clime.
Have you heard, have you heard of that sun-bright clime,Undimmed by tears and uncursed by crime,There death hath the power no more to reign,For they live forever, and they know no pain,—Have you heard of that sun-bright clime?There’s a city fair, ’tis the saint’s sweet home,There they ne’er shall know night’s gathering gloom,With its gates of pearl, and its streets of gold,It shines in the glory of God untold,Over there in that sun-bright clime.A river of water gushes thereMidst flowers of beauty strangely rare,And rich-plumed songsters flit through the bowersOf the tree of life on those golden shores,Over there in that sun-bright clime.Soon the ransomed host, all robed in white,Will reach those fields of pure delight,And pluck rich-fruit from the life-tree bowersMid a thousand hues of those fadeless flowers,Over there in that sun-bright clime.Not far far away is that sun-bright clime,For now we are nearing the promised timeWhen the Lord will come for his bride in white,Then we’ll bid adieu to those scenes of night,And go home to that sun-bright clime.
Have you heard, have you heard of that sun-bright clime,
Undimmed by tears and uncursed by crime,
There death hath the power no more to reign,
For they live forever, and they know no pain,—
Have you heard of that sun-bright clime?
There’s a city fair, ’tis the saint’s sweet home,
There they ne’er shall know night’s gathering gloom,
With its gates of pearl, and its streets of gold,
It shines in the glory of God untold,
Over there in that sun-bright clime.
A river of water gushes there
Midst flowers of beauty strangely rare,
And rich-plumed songsters flit through the bowers
Of the tree of life on those golden shores,
Over there in that sun-bright clime.
Soon the ransomed host, all robed in white,
Will reach those fields of pure delight,
And pluck rich-fruit from the life-tree bowers
Mid a thousand hues of those fadeless flowers,
Over there in that sun-bright clime.
Not far far away is that sun-bright clime,
For now we are nearing the promised time
When the Lord will come for his bride in white,
Then we’ll bid adieu to those scenes of night,
And go home to that sun-bright clime.
Latin Translations.
[The following attempts at a translation of a couple of Psalms, and some of our beautiful Evangelical Hymns into Latin, will interest those who are acquainted with that noble old tongue; more especially if they are at all conversant with the Latin Hymnology and methods of versification of what are designated theMiddle Ages.]
[The following attempts at a translation of a couple of Psalms, and some of our beautiful Evangelical Hymns into Latin, will interest those who are acquainted with that noble old tongue; more especially if they are at all conversant with the Latin Hymnology and methods of versification of what are designated theMiddle Ages.]
PSALMUS XXIII.
PSALMUS C.
“NEARER MY GOD TO THEE.”
“ROCK OF AGES CLEFT FOR ME.”
Rupes Sacculorum, TePro me fissa, condam me!Aquae Fons et sanguinis,Duplex tui lateris,Scelerum purgatioSit, et expiatio.Nunquam possim exsequi,Tua lex quae mandet mi;Quamvis strenuus semper sim.Atque semper fleverim,Hoc nil expiaverit;In Te solo salus sit.Nil in manu tulero;Tuae cruci hæreo;Vestes mihi nudo des,Inopemque subleves;Fonti foedus advolo;Nisi laves pereo.Dum vitalem haurio vim,Cumque moribundus sim,Quum per Stellas evolem,—Ante tuum thronum stem,Rupes Saeculorum, Te,Pro me fissa, condam me.
Rupes Sacculorum, TePro me fissa, condam me!Aquae Fons et sanguinis,Duplex tui lateris,Scelerum purgatioSit, et expiatio.Nunquam possim exsequi,Tua lex quae mandet mi;Quamvis strenuus semper sim.Atque semper fleverim,Hoc nil expiaverit;In Te solo salus sit.Nil in manu tulero;Tuae cruci hæreo;Vestes mihi nudo des,Inopemque subleves;Fonti foedus advolo;Nisi laves pereo.Dum vitalem haurio vim,Cumque moribundus sim,Quum per Stellas evolem,—Ante tuum thronum stem,Rupes Saeculorum, Te,Pro me fissa, condam me.
Rupes Sacculorum, TePro me fissa, condam me!Aquae Fons et sanguinis,Duplex tui lateris,Scelerum purgatioSit, et expiatio.Nunquam possim exsequi,Tua lex quae mandet mi;Quamvis strenuus semper sim.Atque semper fleverim,Hoc nil expiaverit;In Te solo salus sit.Nil in manu tulero;Tuae cruci hæreo;Vestes mihi nudo des,Inopemque subleves;Fonti foedus advolo;Nisi laves pereo.Dum vitalem haurio vim,Cumque moribundus sim,Quum per Stellas evolem,—Ante tuum thronum stem,Rupes Saeculorum, Te,Pro me fissa, condam me.
Rupes Sacculorum, Te
Pro me fissa, condam me!
Aquae Fons et sanguinis,
Duplex tui lateris,
Scelerum purgatio
Sit, et expiatio.
Nunquam possim exsequi,
Tua lex quae mandet mi;
Quamvis strenuus semper sim.
Atque semper fleverim,
Hoc nil expiaverit;
In Te solo salus sit.
Nil in manu tulero;
Tuae cruci hæreo;
Vestes mihi nudo des,
Inopemque subleves;
Fonti foedus advolo;
Nisi laves pereo.
Dum vitalem haurio vim,
Cumque moribundus sim,
Quum per Stellas evolem,—
Ante tuum thronum stem,
Rupes Saeculorum, Te,
Pro me fissa, condam me.
“JESUS, REFUGE OF MY SOUL!”
O Præsidium, Jesus mi,Fugiam tuo pectori,Torrens propius æstuet,Dum procella fureret;Hoc in vitæ turbine,O Salvator, tege me!Fac ut tutus, integer,Tecum semper commorer.Soli es Refugio:Tibi lassus hæreo:Ne relinque solum me;Sit solatium per Te.Tibi dum confisus sim,Plenas opes tulerim:Me defende, debilem,Me tutator, inopem.
O Præsidium, Jesus mi,Fugiam tuo pectori,Torrens propius æstuet,Dum procella fureret;Hoc in vitæ turbine,O Salvator, tege me!Fac ut tutus, integer,Tecum semper commorer.Soli es Refugio:Tibi lassus hæreo:Ne relinque solum me;Sit solatium per Te.Tibi dum confisus sim,Plenas opes tulerim:Me defende, debilem,Me tutator, inopem.
O Præsidium, Jesus mi,Fugiam tuo pectori,Torrens propius æstuet,Dum procella fureret;Hoc in vitæ turbine,O Salvator, tege me!Fac ut tutus, integer,Tecum semper commorer.Soli es Refugio:Tibi lassus hæreo:Ne relinque solum me;Sit solatium per Te.Tibi dum confisus sim,Plenas opes tulerim:Me defende, debilem,Me tutator, inopem.
O Præsidium, Jesus mi,
Fugiam tuo pectori,
Torrens propius æstuet,
Dum procella fureret;
Hoc in vitæ turbine,
O Salvator, tege me!
Fac ut tutus, integer,
Tecum semper commorer.
Soli es Refugio:
Tibi lassus hæreo:
Ne relinque solum me;
Sit solatium per Te.
Tibi dum confisus sim,
Plenas opes tulerim:
Me defende, debilem,
Me tutator, inopem.
Tu, O Jesu, mihi esOmnes res optabiles:Agerum, lapsum, sublevas,Opem fesso, coeco, das:Facile es sanctissimus;Ego sum perimprobus,Fœdus, plenus scelerum—Tu, bonorum omnium.Gratia satis est in Te.Sontem perabsolvere.Fluat flumen affatim,Purus ut ex toto sim.Jesus, Fons vitalis es:Sumam quæ benigne des:Vive mi in pectore,Fons Aterna! Domine!
Tu, O Jesu, mihi esOmnes res optabiles:Agerum, lapsum, sublevas,Opem fesso, coeco, das:Facile es sanctissimus;Ego sum perimprobus,Fœdus, plenus scelerum—Tu, bonorum omnium.Gratia satis est in Te.Sontem perabsolvere.Fluat flumen affatim,Purus ut ex toto sim.Jesus, Fons vitalis es:Sumam quæ benigne des:Vive mi in pectore,Fons Aterna! Domine!
Tu, O Jesu, mihi esOmnes res optabiles:Agerum, lapsum, sublevas,Opem fesso, coeco, das:Facile es sanctissimus;Ego sum perimprobus,Fœdus, plenus scelerum—Tu, bonorum omnium.Gratia satis est in Te.Sontem perabsolvere.Fluat flumen affatim,Purus ut ex toto sim.Jesus, Fons vitalis es:Sumam quæ benigne des:Vive mi in pectore,Fons Aterna! Domine!
Tu, O Jesu, mihi es
Omnes res optabiles:
Agerum, lapsum, sublevas,
Opem fesso, coeco, das:
Facile es sanctissimus;
Ego sum perimprobus,
Fœdus, plenus scelerum—
Tu, bonorum omnium.
Gratia satis est in Te.
Sontem perabsolvere.
Fluat flumen affatim,
Purus ut ex toto sim.
Jesus, Fons vitalis es:
Sumam quæ benigne des:
Vive mi in pectore,
Fons Aterna! Domine!
“ABIDE WITH ME, FAST FALLS THE EVENTIDE.”
Mecum habita, Dominie! ultima labitur hora diei;Quam tenebrae condensantur! Tu mecum habitato!Deficiunt adjutores, atque omnia grata;Tu qui non spernes, inopes, O mecum habitato!Ad metam tenuis vitae, properant rapidae horae;Blanditiae pereunt, et transit gloria mundi:Omnia mutaria, corrumpique, undique vidi;Tu qui immutatus remanes, O mecum habitato.Te, Domine, est mihi vincere, saevos:Tu solus valeas hostes mihi vincere saevos;Tu solus firmum me, et salvum ducere possis;In tranquillo, in turbinibus, Tu, O mecum habitato.Hostes non timeo, quum Tu stas praesto beare;Adversi casus faciles sunt absque dolore;Terrores mortis, stimuli, et, victoria, desunt;Laetatusque exsultabo, nam mecum habitabis.Mi juvenescenti, blandus Tu nempe favisti;Ah me! quam brutus! quam perversusque remansi!Non discessisti a me, saepe ut deserui Te:O Domine, usque et ad extremum, Tu mecum habitato.Ad oculos crucem dormitanti miei monstra:Illustra tenebras, et me erige visere coelos:En, umbrae fugiunt! et mane rubescere coepit!In vita, in morte, O Domine, O Tu mecum habitato!
Mecum habita, Dominie! ultima labitur hora diei;Quam tenebrae condensantur! Tu mecum habitato!Deficiunt adjutores, atque omnia grata;Tu qui non spernes, inopes, O mecum habitato!Ad metam tenuis vitae, properant rapidae horae;Blanditiae pereunt, et transit gloria mundi:Omnia mutaria, corrumpique, undique vidi;Tu qui immutatus remanes, O mecum habitato.Te, Domine, est mihi vincere, saevos:Tu solus valeas hostes mihi vincere saevos;Tu solus firmum me, et salvum ducere possis;In tranquillo, in turbinibus, Tu, O mecum habitato.Hostes non timeo, quum Tu stas praesto beare;Adversi casus faciles sunt absque dolore;Terrores mortis, stimuli, et, victoria, desunt;Laetatusque exsultabo, nam mecum habitabis.Mi juvenescenti, blandus Tu nempe favisti;Ah me! quam brutus! quam perversusque remansi!Non discessisti a me, saepe ut deserui Te:O Domine, usque et ad extremum, Tu mecum habitato.Ad oculos crucem dormitanti miei monstra:Illustra tenebras, et me erige visere coelos:En, umbrae fugiunt! et mane rubescere coepit!In vita, in morte, O Domine, O Tu mecum habitato!
Mecum habita, Dominie! ultima labitur hora diei;Quam tenebrae condensantur! Tu mecum habitato!Deficiunt adjutores, atque omnia grata;Tu qui non spernes, inopes, O mecum habitato!Ad metam tenuis vitae, properant rapidae horae;Blanditiae pereunt, et transit gloria mundi:Omnia mutaria, corrumpique, undique vidi;Tu qui immutatus remanes, O mecum habitato.Te, Domine, est mihi vincere, saevos:Tu solus valeas hostes mihi vincere saevos;Tu solus firmum me, et salvum ducere possis;In tranquillo, in turbinibus, Tu, O mecum habitato.Hostes non timeo, quum Tu stas praesto beare;Adversi casus faciles sunt absque dolore;Terrores mortis, stimuli, et, victoria, desunt;Laetatusque exsultabo, nam mecum habitabis.Mi juvenescenti, blandus Tu nempe favisti;Ah me! quam brutus! quam perversusque remansi!Non discessisti a me, saepe ut deserui Te:O Domine, usque et ad extremum, Tu mecum habitato.Ad oculos crucem dormitanti miei monstra:Illustra tenebras, et me erige visere coelos:En, umbrae fugiunt! et mane rubescere coepit!In vita, in morte, O Domine, O Tu mecum habitato!
Mecum habita, Dominie! ultima labitur hora diei;
Quam tenebrae condensantur! Tu mecum habitato!
Deficiunt adjutores, atque omnia grata;
Tu qui non spernes, inopes, O mecum habitato!
Ad metam tenuis vitae, properant rapidae horae;
Blanditiae pereunt, et transit gloria mundi:
Omnia mutaria, corrumpique, undique vidi;
Tu qui immutatus remanes, O mecum habitato.
Te, Domine, est mihi vincere, saevos:
Tu solus valeas hostes mihi vincere saevos;
Tu solus firmum me, et salvum ducere possis;
In tranquillo, in turbinibus, Tu, O mecum habitato.
Hostes non timeo, quum Tu stas praesto beare;
Adversi casus faciles sunt absque dolore;
Terrores mortis, stimuli, et, victoria, desunt;
Laetatusque exsultabo, nam mecum habitabis.
Mi juvenescenti, blandus Tu nempe favisti;
Ah me! quam brutus! quam perversusque remansi!
Non discessisti a me, saepe ut deserui Te:
O Domine, usque et ad extremum, Tu mecum habitato.
Ad oculos crucem dormitanti miei monstra:
Illustra tenebras, et me erige visere coelos:
En, umbrae fugiunt! et mane rubescere coepit!
In vita, in morte, O Domine, O Tu mecum habitato!
“JUST AS I AM WITHOUT ONE PLEA.”
Sicuti sum—nec sine spe,Quia Tu mortuus es pro me,Et jubes ire me ad Te—O Agnus Dei, venio.Sicuti sum—nec haesitem,Ut maculas abluerem;Mundus per tuum sanguinem,O Agnus Dei, venio.Sictui sum—jactatus sim,Et dubitans dum conflixerim,Certansque, timens, perdo vim,O Agnus Dei, venio.Sictui sum—miserrimeCœcus, nudusque omni re,Ut omnia capiam in Te,O Agnus Dei, venio.Sicuti sum—recipies,Purgabis, solves, eximes;Nam credo quod promitteres:O Agnus Dei, venio.Sictui sum—agnosco Te,Salvasse per amorem me,Ut tuus sim assidue:O Agnus Dei, venio.
Sicuti sum—nec sine spe,Quia Tu mortuus es pro me,Et jubes ire me ad Te—O Agnus Dei, venio.Sicuti sum—nec haesitem,Ut maculas abluerem;Mundus per tuum sanguinem,O Agnus Dei, venio.Sictui sum—jactatus sim,Et dubitans dum conflixerim,Certansque, timens, perdo vim,O Agnus Dei, venio.Sictui sum—miserrimeCœcus, nudusque omni re,Ut omnia capiam in Te,O Agnus Dei, venio.Sicuti sum—recipies,Purgabis, solves, eximes;Nam credo quod promitteres:O Agnus Dei, venio.Sictui sum—agnosco Te,Salvasse per amorem me,Ut tuus sim assidue:O Agnus Dei, venio.
Sicuti sum—nec sine spe,Quia Tu mortuus es pro me,Et jubes ire me ad Te—O Agnus Dei, venio.Sicuti sum—nec haesitem,Ut maculas abluerem;Mundus per tuum sanguinem,O Agnus Dei, venio.Sictui sum—jactatus sim,Et dubitans dum conflixerim,Certansque, timens, perdo vim,O Agnus Dei, venio.Sictui sum—miserrimeCœcus, nudusque omni re,Ut omnia capiam in Te,O Agnus Dei, venio.Sicuti sum—recipies,Purgabis, solves, eximes;Nam credo quod promitteres:O Agnus Dei, venio.Sictui sum—agnosco Te,Salvasse per amorem me,Ut tuus sim assidue:O Agnus Dei, venio.
Sicuti sum—nec sine spe,
Quia Tu mortuus es pro me,
Et jubes ire me ad Te—
O Agnus Dei, venio.
Sicuti sum—nec haesitem,
Ut maculas abluerem;
Mundus per tuum sanguinem,
O Agnus Dei, venio.
Sictui sum—jactatus sim,
Et dubitans dum conflixerim,
Certansque, timens, perdo vim,
O Agnus Dei, venio.
Sictui sum—miserrime
Cœcus, nudusque omni re,
Ut omnia capiam in Te,
O Agnus Dei, venio.
Sicuti sum—recipies,
Purgabis, solves, eximes;
Nam credo quod promitteres:
O Agnus Dei, venio.
Sictui sum—agnosco Te,
Salvasse per amorem me,
Ut tuus sim assidue:
O Agnus Dei, venio.
TRANSCRIBER NOTES
Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected where obvious errors occur. Diary spellings have been maintained as written in all languages, including French, Greek and Latin.
Inconsistencies in punctuation have been maintained. Missing quotes have been added to the diary entries in order to distinguish Silas Rand’s diary entries from the author’s comments and observations.
[The end ofRand and the Micmacs, by Jeremiah S. Clark.]