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ORDINATION

After this, the congregation shall be desired, secretly in their prayers, to make their humble supplications to God for all these things: for the which prayers there shall be silence kept for a space.

After which shall be sung or said by the Bishop (the persons to be ordained Priests all kneeling), “Veni, Creator Spiritus.” — Rubric in the Office for Ordering of Priests.

Twas silence in Thy temple, Lord,

When slowly through the hallow’d air

The spreading cloud of incense soar’d,

Charg’d with the breath of Israel’s prayer.

’Twas silence round Thy throne on high,

When the last wondrous seal unclos’d,141141When He had opened the seventh seal, there was silence in Heaven about the space of half an hour. Rev. viii. 1.

And in this portals of the sky

Thine armies awfully repos’d.

And this deep pause, that o’er us now

Is hovering — comes it not of Thee?

Is it not like a mother’s vow

When, with her darling on her knee,

She weighs and numbers o’er and o’er

Love’s treasure hid in her fond breast,

To cull from that exhaustless store

The dearest blessing and the best?

And where shall mother’s bosom find,

With all its deep love-learned skill,

A prayer so sweetly to her mind,

As, in this sacred hour and still,

Is wafted from the white-rob’d choir,

Ere yet the pure high-breathed lay,

“Come, Holy Ghost, our souls inspire,.”

Rise floating on its dove-like way.

And when it comes, so deep and clear

The strain, so soft the melting fall,

It seems not to th’ entranced ear

Less than Thine own heart-cheering call.

Spirit of Christ — Thine earnest given

That these our prayers are heard, and they,

Who grasp, this hour, the sword of Heaven,

Shall feel Thee on their weary way.

Oft as at morn or soothing eve

Over the Holy Fount they lean,

Their fading garland freshly weave,

Or fan them with Thine airs serene.

Spirit of Light and Truth! to Thee

We trust them in that musing hour,

Till they, with open heart and free.

Teach all Thy word in all its power.

When foemen watch their tents by night,

And mists hang wide o’er moor and fell,

Spirit of Counsel and of Might,

Their pastoral warfare guide Thou well.

And, O! when worn and tir’d they sigh

With that more fearful war within,

When Passion’s storms are loud and high,

And brooding o’er remember’d sin

The heart dies down — O, mightiest then,

Come ever true, come ever near,

And wake their slumbering love again,

Spirit of God’s most holy Fear!


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