The Alma Redemptoris 'gan to sing

So loud that with his voice the place did ring.

The Christian folk that through the Jewry went
Come to the spot in wonder at the thing;
And hastily they for the provost sent;
Immediately he came not tarrying,

And praiseth Christ that is our heavenly King,
And eke his Mother, honour of mankind :
Which done, he bade that they the Jews should bind.

This child with piteous lamentation then
Was taken up, singing his song alway;
And with procession great and pomp of men
To the next abbey him they bare away;
His mother swooning by the bier lay;
And scarcely could the people that were near
Remove this second Rachel from the bier.

Torment and shameful death to every one,
This provost doth for those bad Jews prepare,
That of this murder wist, and that anon:
Such wickedness his judgments cannot spare ;
Who will do evil, evil shall he bear;
Them therefore with wild horses did he draw,
And after that he hung them by the law.

Upon his bier this innocent doth lie
Before the altar while the mass doth last :
The abbot with his convent's company
Then sped themselves to bury him full fast;
And, when they holy water on him cast,

Yet spake this child when sprinkled was the water,
And sang, O Alma Redemptoris Mater!

This abbot, for he was a holy man

As all monks are, or surely ought to be,
In supplication to the child began,

Thus saying, "O dear child! I summon thee In virtue of the Holy Trinity;

Tell me the cause why thou dost sing this hymn, Since that thy throat is cut, as it doth seem?"

"My throat is cut into the bone, I trow,"
Said this young child; "and by the law of kind
I should have died, yea many hours ago;
But Jesus Christ, as in the books ye find,
Will that his glory last, and be in mind;
And, for the worship of his Mother dear,
Yet may I sing, O Alma! loud and clear.

"This well of mercy Jesu's Mother sweet
After my knowledge I have loved alway,
And in the hour when I my death did meet
To me she came, and thus to me did say,

Thou in thy dying sing this holy lay,'
As ye have heard; and soon as I had sung
Methought she laid a grain upon my tongue.

"Wherefore I sing, nor can from song refrain,
In honour of that blissful Maiden free,
'Till from my tongue off-taken is the grain;
And after that thus said she unto me:

My little child, then will I come for thee Soon as the grain from off thy tongue they take, Be not dismayed, I will not thee forsake!'"

This holy monk, this abbot-him mean I, Touched then his tongue, and took away the grain ; And he gave up the ghost full peacefully;

And, when the abbot had this wonder seen,
His salt tears trickled down like showers of rain,
And on his face he dropped upon the ground,
And still he lay as if he had been bound.

Eke the whole convent on the pavement lay,
Weeping and praising Jesu's Mother dear;
And after that they rose, and took their way,
And lifted up this martyr from the bier,
And in a tomb of precious marble clear
Enclosed his uncorrupted body sweet.-
Where'er he be, God grant us him to meet !

Young Hew of Lincoln ! in like sort laid low
By cursed Jews-thing well and widely known,
For not long since was dealt the cruel blow,
Pray also thou for us, while here we tarry,
Weak sinful folk, that God, with pitying eye,
In mercy would his mercy multiply
On us, for reverence of his Mother Mary!

THE CHARACTER OF A GOOD PARSON.

A PARISH priest was of the pilgrim train;
An awful, reverend, and religious man.
His eyes diffus'd a venerable grace,
And charity itself was in his face.

Rich was his soul, though his attire was poor
(As God hath cloth'd his own ambassador);
For such, on earth, his bless'd Redeemer bore.
Of sixty years he seem'd; and well might last
To sixty more, but that he liv'd too fast;
Refin'd himself to soul, to curb the sense;
And made almost a sin of abstinence.

Yet, had his aspect nothing of severe,
But such a face as promis'd him sincere.
Nothing reserv'd or sullen was to see;
But sweet regards, and pleasing sanctity:
Mild was his accent, and his action free.
With eloquence innate his tongue was arm'd;
Though harsh the precept, yet the people charm'd ;
For, letting down the golden chain from high,
He drew his audience upward to the sky :
And oft with holy hymns he charm'd their ears
(A music more melodious than the spheres) :
For David left him, when he went to rest,
His lyre; and after him he sung the best.
He bore his great commission in his look:
But sweetly temper'd awe; and soften'd all he spoke.
He preach'd the joys of heaven and pains of hell,
And warn'd the sinner with becoming zeal;
But on eternal mercy lov'd to dwell.
He taught the gospel rather than the law;
And forc'd himself to drive; but lov'd to draw.
For fear but freezes minds; but love, like heat,
Exhales the soul sublime, to seek her native seat.
To threats the stubborn sinner oft is hard,
Wrapp'd in his crimes, against the storm prepar'd ;
But, when the milder beams of mercy play,
He melts, and throws his cumbrous cloak away.
Lightning and thunder (heaven's artillery)
As harbingers before th' Almighty fly:
Those but proclaim his style, and disappear;
The stiller sound succeeds, and God is there.
The tithes, his parish freely paid, he took;
But never sued, or curs'd with bell or book.
With patience bearing wrong; but offering none;
Since every man is free to lose his own.

The country churls, according to their kind, (Who grudge their dues, and love to be behind), The less he sought his offerings, pinch'd the more,

And prais'd a priest contented to be poor.

Yet of his little he had some to spare,
To feed the famish'd, and to clothe the bare;
For mortify'd he was to that degree,

A poorer than himself he would not see.
True, priests, he said, and preachers of the word,
Were only stewards of their sovereign Lord;
Nothing was their's, but all the public store;
Intrusted riches, to relieve the poor;

Who, should they steal, for want of his relief,
He judg'd himself accomplice with the thief.

Wide was his parish; not contracted close
In streets, but here and there a straggling house;
Yet still he was at hand, without request,
To serve the sick, to succour the distress'd;
Tempting, on foot, alone, without affright,
The dangers of a dark tempestuous night.

All this the good old man perform'd alone, Nor spar'd his pains; for curate he had none, Nor durst he trust another with his care; Nor rode himself to Paul's, the public fair, To chaffer for preferment with his gold, Where bishoprics and sinecures are sold: But duly watch'd his flock, by night and day, And from the prowling wolf redeem'd the prey, And hungry sent the wily fox away.

The proud he tam'd, the penitent he cheer'd ; Nor to rebuke the rich offender fear'd.

His preaching much, but more his practice wrought (A living sermon of the truths he taught);