Sequence 36. St. Thomas of Canterbury

December 29TH.
NOW let our holy Mother-Church bemoan
What was aforetime by Great Britain done ;
'Twas a deed detestable :
By pious feelings France is deeply stirred,
And in all horror from the guilt abhorred
Flee heaven and earth and seas as well !

Ah ! a crime beyond all telling,
One most hateful and repelling,
Was at England's hands then done :
She prejudged her father, newly
To his home restored, and foully
Murdered him upon his throne.

Thomas, all England's brightest flower,
The glory of the church, before
All others in exalted fame,
At Canterbury's temple door.

The laws of justice to secure,
Both sacrifice and priest became.

2i6 S. THOMAS CANTUARIUS.
'Twixt the temple and the altar,
On the threshold, each assaulter
Doth rudely shake, but breaks him not ;
Though with their swords in twain they cut
In its midst the temple veil.

Low Elisha's bald head lieth,
Zacharias, slaughtered, dieth ;
Peace, thus betrayed, dissolves away,
And the sweet organ now can play
But the tearful mourners' wail.

Upon Childennas's morrow
Is this Innocent to sorrow
Dragged forth, and blows, and tortures' pain ;
Whilst, on the earth outpoured, his brain,
Lo ! the sword's point bareth.

As that temple's chiefest glory,
Blushes still its pavement gory,
Which is o'ersprinkled with his blood,
As there this holy priest of God
Robes of passion weareth.

Rages wrath, with fury fevered,
Just blood is to death delivered;
With a sword his head is shivered
In the presence of the Lord :
2iS S. THOMAS CAN7VARIUS.

Consecrating, consecrated,
Immolating, immolated,
He to man a celebrated
Type of virtue doth afford.

Holocaust, with marrow welling,
Known to earth's remotest dwelling,
Sacrifice to God sweet-smelling,
This pontiff was selected ;
For a crown that may be riven
Two-fold robes to him are given
On his primate's throne, in heaven
Restored and re-erected.

Jews depreciate our fame, Pagans show derision,
Such as worship idols scoff, that our own religion
Should to break its pledge have dared,
Neither have that father spared,
Over Christians reigning, 59
Rachel weepeth for that son, nor finds consolation.

Who thus in his mother's womb meets assassination ;
Over whose untimely end
Holy hearts their tears expend,
Bitterly complaining.

This man is that pontiff bright,
Whom on heaven's supremest height
Its supernal maker, God,
Stablished in great glory,
When with swords all-gory
England's swordsmen smite him.

Since of death he felt no dread,
But surrendered up his head
To welter in his blood,
When he hence was driven
God to highest heaven
Did at once admit him.

Of his death indeed most precious mighty wonders
testify ;
Jesu ! may he recommend us unto Thee eternally !