Else were I 'shamed when hoary age I see, Shamed were this board that bears Thy gifts to me: Mine is the impulse; O my Christ, I pray, Be Thou Thyself to me the Blessed Way! AN EVENING HYMN {epseusamen se ten aletheian, loge} I O Word of Truth! in devious paths My wayward feet have trod, I have not kept the day serene I gave at morn to God. II And now 'tis night, and night within, O God, the light hath fled! I have not kept the vow I made When morn its glories shed. III For clouds of gloom from nether world Obscured my upward way; O Christ the Light, Thy light bestow And turn my night to day! SYNESIUS SYNESIUS Synesius was born about 375. In more particulars than one he was an outstanding man. His pedigree is said to have extended through seventeen centuries, and to have included the names of the most illustrious. Not only was he of noble lineage, he was a man also of high character and brilliant attainments. He was versed in the Neoplatonic philosophy, and his Christianity has been called in question by no less an authority than Mosheim; but how any one can read his odes and doubt the reality of his Christian faith, even in the full sense of the term, as believing in the Divinity of Christ and in His Resurrection, is hard to understand. He certainly was a good man, and knew Christ and loved Him. His writings prove that; and in 410 A.D., though reluctantly, he became Bishop of Ptolemais. Very little of his poetry has come down to us, but that little is of the highest order. He died 430 A.D. {soi nyx me pherei ton aoidon, anax} A Cento from {age moi psycha} I When darkness falls and night is here, My hymns of praise in silence rise-- This knows the moon, whose silver sphere Shines in the star-bespangled skies. II When morning breaks, and glorious day Shines in the dawn and noontide fair-- This knows the sun--a grateful lay Springs from my heart in fervent prayer. III When fails the light at sunset gray, And twilight listens for my song-- This know the stars--in bright array My praises mingle with their throng. {lypais d' astiptos psycha} A Cento from {Hymnomen kouron nymphas} I O may my soul, uncrushed by care, Direct her gaze to where Thou art, And in Thy splendour find, O Christ, The strength of life Thou canst impart. II