King of heaven, our nature wearing, Pity lend the sad despairing; ’Neath the sway of sin repining, Formed from dust, to dust declining— Tottering in our ruined state, Strengthen by Thy goodness great. II What is man from sin descending? Child of death, all woes attending. What is man? a worm that clingeth To the earth from which he springeth. Wilt Thou forth Thine anger bring, On a weak, defenceless thing? III Shall not man, who earthward tendeth, Look to God, who mercy sendeth? ’Twere a task most unbefitting, God o’er man in judgment sitting— Yet should God in judgment speak, Where shall man an answer seek? IV As the shadow quickly flying, Faint our life and sure our dying; As the cloud by tempest driven, As the grass cut down at even;— King of heaven, in mercy great, Pity the disconsolate. _Passion Week_ VEXILLA REGIS PRODEUNT By Venantius Fortunatus. Born in the district of Treviso, Italy, about 530. In 565 he made a pilgrimage to the shrine of St. Martin at Tours, and spent the remainder of his years in Gaul. Through the influence of his friend Queen Rhadegunda, Fortunatus became Bishop of Poitiers in 597. Some place his death in the year 609. Fortunatus must have been an author of great industry and versatility. He wrote the life of St. Martin in four books, containing 2245 hexameter lines; he threw off in profusion vers de societé when wandering from castle to cloister in Gaul; and he composed a volume of hymns for all the festivals of the Christian year, which is now unhappily lost. This is his best known hymn, Dr. Neale’s translation of which is inserted for the Fifth Sunday in Lent, otherwise called Palm Sunday, in “Hymns Ancient and Modern” _(No. 84)_. I See the Royal banners Wave across the sky, Bright the mystic radiance, For the Cross is nigh; And He who came our flesh to wear, The Christ of God, was wounded there. II Deep the cruel spear thrust, By the soldier given; Blood and water mingle, Where the flesh is riven; To cleanse our souls the crimson tide Leapt from the Saviour’s riven side. III In the distant ages Zion’s harp was strung, And the faithful saw Him, While the prophet sung; Now Israel’s Hope the nations see, For Christ is reigning from the tree. IV Tree of wondrous beauty, Tree of grace and light, Royal throne to rest on, Decked with purple bright; The choice of God, this royal throne Whence Christ, the King, should rule His own. V