Sequence 40. St. Vincent

January 2 2nd.
SEE the longed-for day arriving !

Happy day, day pleasure giving !
Day in which we should delight !

Let us keep this day then holy,
On it Christ admiring truly,
As He doth in Vincent fight.

For his birth, self-consecration,
Feeling, faith, speech, lofty station.

And his office eminent.
Under the paternal sway
Of Valerius his day
Of diaconate was spent.

Slow of speech, the bishop giveth
All his time to God, and leaveth
Preaching to the deacon's share : 1 5
Wreathed his words are with uprightness,
And his single mind with brightness.

Bred of double learning, fair.
When the truth that he believeth
Sarragossa's crowd receiveth
From his Hps through present grace,
Then the prefect's enmity,
Zealous for idolatry,
Fiercely would the church abase.

When their constant faith he learns, that never
flagged,
To Valentia both in fetters to be dragged
Doth he direct.

Neither doth the wretch that noble young man spare,
Neither to the holy bishop's age doth care
To pay respect.

These men, tired with travel-pains,
Weighed down 'neath a weight of chains,
In a foul jail he detains,
And all food to them denies.

Though to hurt them he is fain,
Yet his wishes are in vain.

Since Christ's bounty doth maintain
His own servants with supplies.

To exile by him is the old man sent.
The younger one meanwhile for punishment
The prefect keeps still graver.

What time his pain by claw and horse-rack ends,
Vincent at once the gridiron ascends
With spirit braced and braver.

As he burneth, fears he spurneth ;
Even more to Christ he turneth,
Nor, though present he discerneth
The dread tyrant, for him cares :
Datian's cruel visage gloweth,
Tongue and hand each useless groweth,
Till, such furious rage he showeth,
He beside himself appears.

Into a cave then is the martyr thrown,
And, there confined, flung down on potsherds prone ;
Still he enjoys much Hght unto him shown,
When angels bright to him appear.

At length, upon a pallet rudely cast.
He passes thence to heaven, his labours past ;
And, thus triumphant, his brave soul at last
Is to his Prince presented there.

Datian no such grave alloweth,
As man's common law bestoweth :
Violence his malice doeth
To what law and nature say.

'Gainst the dead the fierce judge burneth,
But more glory for him earneth,
For the very wild beast turneth,
Awe-struck, from its wonted prey.

Lo ! untouched, a raven, flying,
Keeps the corpse, unburied lying,
And, a monstrous scheme thus trying,
Datian faileth utterly.

But, unholy
Heathen's folly !

What earth would not,
What earth could not.

Waste, is hurried
To be buried
In the silent depths of sea.

Millstone's weight can hold him never,
Ocean must her dead deliver.

Whom the church would now endeavour
With one voice of praise for ever
To revere especially.

For his corpse, reduced to cinder,
Fire, earth, sea, illustrious render !

Jesu ! grant in mercy tender
We and all saints may Thy splendour.

Duly praise at home with Thee ! Amen.
lo S. VINCENTIUS.