There were no doubt many religious poems in a certain amount of circulation of a different cast from these; some a metrical recounting of portions of the Bible history--a kind unsuited to our ends; others a setting forth of the doctrines and duties then believed and taught. Of the former class is one of the oldest Anglo-Saxon poems we have, that of Caedmon, and there are many specimens to be found in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. They could, however, have been of little service to the people, so few of whom could read, or could have procured manuscripts if they had been able to use them. A long and elaborate composition of the latter class was written in the reign of Edward II. by William de Shoreham, vicar of Chart-Sutton in Kent. He probably taught his own verses to the people at his catechisings. The intention was, no doubt, by the aid of measure and rhyme to facilitate the remembrance of the facts and doctrines. It consists of a long poem on the Seven Sacraments; of a shorter, associating the Canonical Hours with the principal events of the close of our Lord's life; of an exposition of the Ten Commandments, followed by a kind of treatise on the Seven Cardinal Sins: the fifth part describes the different joys of the Virgin; the sixth, in praise of the Virgin, is perhaps the most poetic; the last is less easy to characterize. The poem is written in the Kentish dialect, and is difficult. I shall now turn into modern verse a part of "The Canonical Hours," giving its represented foundation of the various acts of worship in the Romish Church throughout the day, from early in the morning to the last service at night. After every fact concerning our Lord, follows an apostrophe to his mother, which I omit, being compelled to choose. Father's wisdom lifted high, Lord of us aright-- God and man taken was, At matin-time by night. The disciples that were his, Anon they him forsook; Sold to Jews and betrayed, To torture him took. At the prime Jesus was led In presence of Pilate, Where witnesses, false and fell, Laughed at him for hate. In the neck they him smote, Bound his hands of might; Spit upon that sweet face That heaven and earth did light. "Crucify him! crucify!" They cried at nine o'clock; A purple cloth they put on him-- To stare at him and mock. They upon his sweet head Stuck a thorny crown; To Calvary his cross he bears. Pitiful, from the town Jesus was nailed on the cross At the noon-tide; Strong thieves they hanged up, One on either side. In his pain, his strong thirst Quenched they with gall; So that God's holy Lamb From sin washed us all. At the nones Jesus Christ Felt the hard death; He to his father "Eloi!" cried, Gan up yield his breath. A soldier with a sharp spear Pierced his right side; The earth shook, the sun grew dim, The moment that he died.