For my concluding words in this brief study I could choose none better than these:

176 For all the saints, who from their labors rest,

Who Thee by faith before the world confessed,
Thy Name, O Jesu, be forever blest.

Alleluia.

Thou wast their Rock, their Fortress, and their Might;
Thou, Lord, their Captain in the well-fought fight;
Thou, in the darkness drear, the one true Light.

Alleluia.

Oh may Thy soldiers, faithful, true, and bold,
Fight as the saints who nobly fought of old,
And win, with them, the victor's crown of gold.
Alleluia.

O blest communion, fellowship divine!
We feebly struggle, they in glory shine;
Yet all are one in Thee, for all are Thine.

Alleluia.

And when the strife is fierce, the warfare long,
Steals on the ear the distant triumph-song,
And hearts are brave again, and arms are strong.
Alleluia.

The golden evening brightens in the west;
Soon, soon to faithful warriors cometh rest;
Sweet is the calm of Paradise the blest.

Alleluia.

But lo! there breaks a yet more glorious day;
The saints triumphant rise in bright array;
The King of glory passes on His way.

Alleluia.

From earth's wide bounds, from ocean's farthest coast,
Through gates of pearl streams in the countless host,
Singing to Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

Alleluia.

10

10

IX.

Phillips Brooks

Arthur Cleveland Coxe

George Burgess

Francis Scott Key

Timothy Dwight

and Other American Hymn Writers

The earth has grown old with its burden of care,
But at Christmas it always is young;

The heart of the jewel burns lustrous and fair,
And its soul full of music breaks forth on the air,
When the song of the angels is sung.

It is coming, Old Earth, it is coming to-night!
On the snowflakes which cover thy sod

The feet of the Christ-child fall gently and white,
And the voice of the Christ-child tells out with delight
That mankind are the children of God.

PHILLIPS BROOKS.

Venite Exultemus, there,

Those ancient scholars sung,

And Jubilate Domino

The vaulted alleys rung:

And our gray pile will tremble oft
Beneath the organ's roar,

When here those very matin-songs
With high Te Deum pour!

And where are kings and empires now,
Since then, that went and came?

But holy Church is praying yet,

A thousand years the same!

And these that sing shall pass away:
New choirs their room shall fill!
Be sure thy children's children here
Shall hear those anthems still.

ARTHUR CLEVELAND COXE,