Oh, what trembling there shall be, When the world its Judge shall see, Coming in dread majesty!

Hark! the trump, with thrilling tone, From sepulchral regions lone, Summons all before the throne:

Time and Death it doth appall,
To see the buried ages all
Rise to answer at the call.

Now the books are open spread;
Now the writing must be read,
Which condemns the quick and dead:

Now, before the Judge severe
Hidden things must all appear;

Naught can pass unpunish'd here.

What shall guilty I then plead?
Who for me will intercede,

When the saints shall comfort need?

King of dreadful Majesty!

Who dost freely justify!

Fount of Pity, save Thou me!

quick: the living.

Recollect, O Love divine!

"Twas for this lost sheep of thine Thou thy glory didst resign:

Satest wearied seeking me;
Sufferedst upon the Tree:
Let not vain thy labor be.

Judge of Justice, hear my prayer! Spare me, Lord, in mercy spare! Ere the Reckoning-day appear.

Lo! the gracious face I seek; Shame and grief are on my cheek; Sighs and tears my sorrow speak.

Thou didst Mary's guilt forgive;
Didst the dying thief receive;
Hence doth hope within me live.

Worthless are my prayers, I know;
Yet, oh, cause me not to go.
Into everlasting woe.

Sever'd from the guilty band, Make me with thy sheep to stand, Placing me on thy right hand.

When the cursed in anguish flee
Into flames of misery;

With the Blest then call Thou me.

Suppliant in the dust I lie;

My heart a cinder, crush'd and dry;
Help me, Lord, when death is nigh!

Full of tears, and full of dread,
Is the day that wakes the dead,
Calling all, with solemn blast,
From the ashes of the past.

Lord of mercy! Jesus blest!

Grant the Faithful light and rest.

Fain would my thoughts fly up to Thee,
Thy peace, sweet Lord, to find;
But when I offer, still the world
Lays clogs upon my mind.

Sometimes I climb a little way

And thence look down below;
How nothing, there, do all things seem,
That here make such a show.

Then round about I turn my eyes
To feast my hungry sight;

I meet with Heaven in everything,
In everything delight.

AUSTIN.

XCVIII

THE DREAM OF GERONTIUS

CARDINAL NEWMAN

PART I

JOHN HENRY NEWMAN was born in the year 1801, in London. After attending a private school he went to Trinity College, Oxford. At the age of twenty-five he became Vicar of St. Mary's, the University Church. For some twenty years Newman occupied this pulpit. Professor Shairp eloquently recalls his feelings at hearing no longer Mr. Newman's voice in St. Mary's. "On these things,

looking over an interval of five
and twenty years, how vividly
comes back the remembrance
of the aching blank, the awful
pause which fell on Oxford
when that voice had ceased, and
we knew that we should hear it
no more. It was as when to
one kneeling by night in the
silence of some vast cathedral,
the great bell tolling solemnly
overhead has suddenly gone
still.
Since then many

voices of powerful teachers may have been heard, but none that ever penetrated the soul like his." Shortly after his resignation from St. Mary's Newman became a Catholic. His "Letters" show how deep were the convictions that led to his change of religion. In the Catholic Church he rose to the cardinalate. He died August 11, 1890. Among his many writings may be mentioned the "Apologia," the novel "Callista,"

JOHN HENRY NEWMAN

66

the Historical Sketches," his essays-two famous ones of which are Aristotle's Poetics" and the "Idea of a University."

GERONTIUS

JESU, MARIA-I am near death,

And thou art calling me; I know it nowNot by the token of this faltering breath, This chill at heart, this dampness on my brow, (Jesu, have mercy! Mary, pray for me!). "Tis this new feeling, never felt before, (Be with me, Lord, in my extremity!)

That I am going, that I am no more. 'Tis this strange innermost abandonment, (Lover of souls! great God! I look to Thee,) This emptying out of each constituent

And natural force, by which I come to be. Pray for me, O my friends; a visitant

Is knocking his dire summons at my door, The like of whom, to scare me and to daunt, Has never, never come to me before; 'Tis death,-O loving friends, your prayers!'tis he!

As though my very being had given way,

As though I was no more a substance now, And could fall back on nought to be my stay,

(Help, loving Lord! Thou my sole Refuge, Thou,) And turn no whither, but must needs decay And drop from out the universal frame Into that shapeless, scopeless, blank abyss, That utter nothingness, of which I came: