Thought to thought with my Soul converse,
Celestial joys to me rehearse,

[May he Celestial joy rehearse,

And thought to thought with me converse.]
And [Or] in my stead all the night long,
Sing to my God a grateful Song.

Praise God from whom all Blessings flow,

Praise Him all Creatures here below,

Praise Him above y' Angelick [ye Heavenly] Host,
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

A MIDNIGHT HYMN.

Lord, now my Sleep does me forsake,
[My God, now I from Sleep awake,]
The sole possession of me take;
Let no vain fancy me illude,

No one impure desire intrude.

[From midnight Terrors me secure,

And guard my Heart from Thoughts impure.]

Blest Angels! while we silent lie,
Your Hallelujahs sing on high,
You, ever wakeful near the Throne,
Prostrate, adore the Three in One.
[You joyful hymn the ever Bless'd,
Before the Throne, and never rest.]

I now, awake, do with you joyn,
To praise our God in Hymns Divine:
[I with yon Choir celestial join
In offering up a Hymn divine.]
With you in Heav'n I hope to dwell,
And bid the Night and World farewell.

My Soul, when I shake off this dust

Lord, in Thy Arms I will entrust;

O make me Thy peculiar care,

Some heav'nly Mansion me [Some Mansion for my Soul] prepare.

Give me a place at Thy Saints' feet,
Or some fall'n Angel's vacant seat;
I'll strive to sing as loud as they,
Who sit above in brighter day.

O may I always ready stand,

With my Lamp burning in my hand;

May I in sight of Heav'n rejoyce,
Whene'er I hear the Bridegroom's voice!

Glory [All Praise] to Thee in light arraid,
Who light Thy dwelling place hast made,
An immense [A boundless] Ocean of bright beams,
From Thy All-glorious Godhead streams.

The Sun, in its Meridian height,
Is very darkness in Thy sight:
My Soul, O lighten, and enflame,

With Thought and Love of Thy great name.

Blest Jesu, Thou, on Heav'n intent,
Whole Nights hast in Devotion spent,
But I, frail Creature, soon am tir'd,
And all my Zeal is soon expir'd.

My Soul, how canst thou weary grow
Of ante-dating Heav'n [Bliss] below,

In sacred Hymns, and Divine [Heavenly] Love,
Which will Eternal be above?

Shine on me, Lord, new life impart,
Fresh ardours kindle in my Heart;
One ray of Thy All-quick'ning light
Dispels the sloth and clouds of night.

Lord, lest the Tempter me surprize,
Watch over Thine own Sacrifice,
All loose, all idle Thoughts cast out,
And make my very Dreams devout.

Praise God, from whom all Blessings flow,

Praise Him all Creatures here below,

Praise Him above y' Angelick [ye Heavenly] Host,

Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

Ken's pure and exalted life suggests the words of one of our Prayer Book Collects: "Almighty and Everliving God, we yield unto Thee most high praise and hearty thanks for the wonderful grace and virtue declared in all thy Saints who have been the choice vessels of Thy grace, and the lights of the world in their several generations.'

Standing by his grave each one of us may well sing, with

Lord Houghton:

Let other thoughts, where'er I roam
Ne'er from my memory cancel
The coffin-fashioned tomb at Frome,
That lies behind the chancel:

A basket-work where bars are bent,
Iron in place of ozier,

And shapes above that represent
A mitre and a crozier.

These signs of him that slumbers there

The dignity betoken;

These iron bars a heart declare,

Hard bent, but never broken:

This form portrays how souls like his,

Their pride and passion quelling,

Preferred to earth's high palaces

This calm and narrow dwelling.

There, with the churchyard's common dust,
He loved his own to mingle:
The faith in which he placed his trust

Was nothing rare or single.

Yet lay he to the sacred wall

As close as he was able;

The blessed crumbs might almost fall
Upon him from God's table.

Who was this father of the Church
So secret in his glory?

In vain might antiquarians search
For record of his story:

But preciously tradition keeps

The fame of holy men:

So there the Christian smiles or weeps
For love of Bishop Ken.

A name his country once forsook,
But now with joy inherits,

Confessor in the Church's book

And martyr in the Spirit's!

That dared with royal power to cope,
In peaceful faith persisting,

A braver Becket-who could hope
To conquer unresisting.

II.

Charles Wesley