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Do they bring glad tidings
Of some well won fight?
Why these songs of gladness
Breaking on the night?"

At the Feast of Christmas, ever let us sing,
Carols of rejoicing, to our Infant King!

""Tis indeed a Monarch

Whose high praise is sung
Through the starry heavens,
By each joyful tongue;
Angels are His heralds

And proclaim to men,

That their King has brought them
Peace and joy again."

At the Feast of Christmas, ever let us sing,
Carols of rejoicing, to our Infant King!

"Let us swell His triumph,

And His coming greet,

Say, where shall we find Him?

Where this Monarch meet?

Let us hasten onwards

To His palace gate.

There with shouts salute Him

Mid the rich and great."

At the Feast of Christmas, ever let us sing,
Carols of rejoicing, to our Infant King!

Four-Part Song.. "King Witlaf's Drinking Horn."

SUNG BY FORMER MEMBERS OF THE CHOIR.

Witlaf, a King of the Saxons,

Ere yet his last he breath'd,
To the merry monks of Croyland
His drinking horn bequeath'd,

.. Hatton

That, whenever they sat at their revels, And drank from the golden bowl, They might remember the donor,

And breathe a prayer for his soul. So sat they once at Christmas,

And bade the goblet pass;

In their beards the red wine glisten'd
Like dewdrops in the grass.

They drank to the saints and martyrs,
Of the dismal days of yore,

And as soon as the horn was empty,
They remember'd one saint more,
And the reader dron'd from the pulpit,
Like the murmur of many bees,
The legend of good Saint Guthlac,
And Saint Basil's homilies,

Till the great bells of the Convent
From their prison in the the tow'r,

Guthlac and Bartholomæus,

Proclaim'd the midnight hour.

And the yule-log cracked in the chimney, And the Abbot bow'd his head,

And the flamelets flapp'd and flicker'd,

But the Abbot was stark and dead!

Yet still in his pallid fingers

He clutch'd the golden bowl,

In which, like a pearl dissolving,

Had sunk and dissolv'd his soul.

But not for this their revels,

The jovial monks forbore;

For they cried, "Fill high the goblet! We must drink to one saint more.

Finale...." CARMEN MARLBURIENSE."

Words by the REV. C. W. MOULE, M.A., Fellow of
Corpus Christi College, Cambridge.

1 Libros chartas! aufer talia!
Vos salvete Saturnalia !
Sortes hodie permutentur :
Qui docebant jam docentur !
Adeste qui vocales!
Eamus O sodales!
Sequamur frater fratrem,
Canentes Almam Matrem.

2 Liberi sed îdem sani

SUNG BY THE SCHOOL.

Sacrum Carmen instauramus :
Este procul O profani,
Claram, caram, dum laudamus :
Adeste, etc.

3 Urbem lautam nil morämur;
Rus apertum noster amor;
Hoc nos firmat-sic Etruria
Fortis crevit-sic Marlburia!
Adeste, etc.

4 Nec juventas est pudori;
Novi simus, dum decori.
Non, ut arbor, senescendo
Diu vivas sed merendo !
Adeste, etc.

5 Latericii num sint muri
Sumus unicè securi:
Dum virtute poliatur,
Marmor est qui fuit later!
Adeste, etc.

6 Quem virum (sed ipse scio)
Sumis celebrare, Clio?
Illud tantum dubitatur,
Praeses an sit iste PATER.
Adeste, etc.

7 Suam laudem da Togatis:
Gens magistra floreatis
Per tot dura nostras mentes
Feras esse non sinentes!
Adeste, etc.

8 Vivat vis Pedariorum!
Vivat Undecimvirorum!
Folle, pilâ, seu tormento,
Civitati propugnanto!
Adeste, etc.

9 Prisca Nova! Domus clarae Scitis et vos decertare;

Sin quaeratur "praestet utra,"
Echo respondebit "Neutra."
Adeste, etc.

Music by W. Schulthes.

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5 Though brick is plain and marble rich,
Our walls may shew we care not which;
If we are bricks and do our duty,
The red will whiten into beauty.
Rise, &c.

6 Say, Clio, whom (but none can doubt)
Thy herald-harp first singles out:
Our Master he-or bears he rather
The homelier, greater name of Father?
Rise, &c.

7 With him the masters' conclave bless;
Their gownéd shadow ne'er be less!
We vex them, but they scorn despair,
And graft our wild grown wits to bear.
Rise, &c.

8 Be strong, Elevens, to bowl and shoot:
Be strong, O Regiment of the Foot.
With ball of skin, or lead, or leather,
Stand for the Commonwealth together
Rise, &c.

9 Nor, famous Houses, Old and New,
Are battles all unknown to you;
Yet clamoured either "I'm the greater,"
Echo would rate her for a prater.

Rise, &c.

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SUNG BY THE SCHOOL.

God save our gracious Queen,
Long live our noble Queen,
God save the Queen;
Send her victorious,
Happy and glorious,
Long to reign over us,

God save the Queen.

O Lord our God arise,
Scatter her enemies,

And make them fall;
Confound their politics,
Frustrate their knavish tricks,
On Thee our hopes we fix,
God save us all.

Thy choicest gifts in store,
On her be pleased to pour,
Long may she reign;
May she defend our laws,
And ever give us cause,
To sing with heart and voice,

God save the Queen.

[LUCY & CO., PRINTERS, MARLBorough.

aribaria 8

prowess

ition at many

and many

parting ovation on leaving for another appointment. those landable sentiments

"Flore

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