All hallowed by God’s holy priest,

Raising the host of sacrifice,

While rays from the star of the east

Seem to guide us away from vice.

Non omnis moriar, they say,

Not dead the flow’rs beneath the snow,

They’ll come forth from the earth so gray,

Live and bloom in the sun’s warm glow;

Above the snow beyond the stars

They who have gone in soft tones sing,

Non omnis moriar, afar,

We dwell in peace with Christ our King.

{46}

{46}

THE MUSICIAN’S LOVE-SONG.

A thousand harps are breaking music in my heart,

In wild picturesque corners where the nymphs might prance,

Strains, half sweet, half sad, in my daily life apart,

Gush forth as from a fountain where the sun’s light dance.

The dusk of night is hov’ring o’er the twilight hour,

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