GRAND CHORUS.

At last divine Cecilia came,
Inventress of the vocal frame;

The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store,
Enlarged the former narrow bounds,

And added length to solemn sounds,

With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before.
Let old Timotheus yield the prize,

Or both divide the crown;
He raised a mortal to the skies,
She drew an angel down.

VENI CREATOR SPIRITUS,

PARAPHRASED.

CREATOR spirit, by whose aid
The world's foundations first were laid,
Come visit every pious mind;
Come pour thy joys on human kind;
From sin and sorrow set us free,
And make thy temples worthy thee.
O source of uncreated light,
The Father's promised Paraclete!
Thrice holy fount, thrice holy fire,
Our hearts with heavenly love inspire;
Come, and thy sacred unction bring
To sanctify us, while we sing.

Plenteous of grace, descend from high,

Rich in thy sevenfold energy!

Thou strength of his Almighty hand,

Whose power does heaven and earth command.

Proceeding spirit, our defence,

Who do'st the gifts of tongues dispense,
And crown'st thy gift with eloquence.
Refine and purge our earthly parts;
But, O; inflame and fire our hearts!
Our frailties help, our vice controul,
Submit the senses to the soul;
And, when rebellious they are grown,
Then lay thy hand, and hold them down.

Chace from our minds the infernal foe; And peace, the fruit of love, bestow; And, lest our feet should step astray, Protect and guide us in the way. Make us eternal truths receive, And practise all that we believe; Give us thyself, that we may see The Father, and the Son, by thee. Immortal honour, endless fame, Attend the Almighty Father's name; The Saviour Son be glorified, Who for lost man's redemption died; And equal adoration be, Eternal Paraclete, to thee.

FABLES.

TALES FROM CHAUCER.

VOL. XI.

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