MEDIÆVAL HYMNS.
17
Death hath no power to hurt you more,
Whose own is Life's eternal store,—
Who sow their seed, and, sowing, weep,[1]
In everlasting joy shall reap:
What time they shine in heavenly day,
And every tear is wiped away.
O City blest o'er all the earth,
Who gloriest in the Saviour's birth!
Whose are His earliest Martyrs dear,
By kindred and by triumph here.
None from henceforth may call thee small;—
Of rival towns thou passest all;
In whom our Monarch had His Birth,—
O City blest o'er all the earh!
- ↑ V. Bede is very fond of a practice not usual in the Hymns we are considering:—the introducing the words of Scripture as a part of his own composition:—and the additions he makes to them are sometimes very beautiful. Here, for example: "Qui seminant in lacrymis, Longo metent in gaudio." Again, in a fine hymn on the Ascension:
Mirata adhuc cœlestium
Rogavit aula Civium:
Quis (inquit) est Rex gloriæ,
Rex iste tarn laudabilis?
