To Thee, Good Shepherd, who for meat Dost give Thy flesh to feed Thine own, To Father, and to Paraclete, Be praise through ages yet unknown. _Death and Judgment_ GRAVI ME TERRORE PULSAS By Peter Damiani. Born at Ravenna about 988; became a “religious” of the order of the Monks of the Holy Cross of Fontavellano, of which community he subsequently became the Superior, founding in his day five monasteries under the same rule; was induced by Pope Stephen IX. to accept the position of Cardinal-Bishop of Ostia, an office he was allowed to resign by Pope Alexander II. in 1062. In retirement he lived a life of great asceticism and self-mortification. On his return journey from Ravenna, whither he had gone as Papal legate on a mission of inquiry and reform, he died of fever at Faenza, in the monastery of Our Lady, 1072. I Terror grim the soul oppresses When the day of death is near; Sighs the heart, the reins are sundered, Quakes each part with anxious fear; While the mind the woe detaileth Of the conflict to appear. II Spectacle all woe inspiring Who its terror can pourtray? See, the course of life is ended, And the sickening flesh gives way, For the wrestling soul in triumph Breaks the bands that bid her stay. III Sense decays, and fails expression; Dark the world to melting eye; And the troubled breast in anguish, Gasping, breathes her burdened sigh; Grace of form and glow of beauty, From the withering body die. IV Thoughts, and words, and deeds forgotten, Crowd around in grim array; And unwilling eyes behold them, Be they closed or turned away; In the heart they seem to rankle, Turn he wheresoe’er he may. V Vain the vow of new obedience— Time for vowing is no more; Vain the sorrow of repentance, For the day of grace is o’er; Conscience now the tortured sinner Gnaws with pangs unfelt before. VI Draughts of sweet deluding pleasure Give the bitter dregs at last; Come, unending pain and anguish, With the short-lived rapture past; Then, what once appeared so worthy, Is aside as worthless cast. VII Then, O Christ, Thou King victorious, Come with succour in my plight; When the soul is freed from bondage, In its hour of darkest night; Come, O Christ, Thy help extending, Free me from the accuser’s might. VIII Headlong may the Prince of Darkness With the hosts infernal fall! Thou, the Shepherd of Salvation, Bid me follow at Thy call, To the land where fulness dwelleth, And those eyes shall see it all.