Epilogue: Hymns For The Christian's Day (Epilogus)

Newly Translated Into English Verse By R. Martin Pope is below this original.     Epilogus         Inmolat Deo Patri             pius, fidelis, innocens, pudicus         dona conscientiae,             quibus beata mens abundat intus:         alter et pecuniam             recidit, unde victitent egeni.         Nos citos iambicos             sacramus et rotatiles trochaeos,         sanctitatis indigi             nec ad levamen pauperum potentes;         adprobat tamen Deus             pedestre carmen, et benignus audit.         Multa divitis domo             sita est per omnes angulos supellex.         Fulget aureus scyphus,             nec aere defit expolita pelvis:         est et olla fictilis,             gravisque et ampla argentea est parabsis.         Sunt eburna quaepiam,             nonnulla quercu sunt cavata et ulmo:         omne vas fit utile,             quod est ad usum congruens herilem,         Instruunt enim domum             ut empta magno, sic parata ligno.         Me paterno in atrio             ut obsoletum vasculum caducis         Christus aptat usibus,             sinitque parte in anguli manere.         Munus ecce fictile             inimus intra regiam salutis;         attamen vel infimam             Deo obsequelam praestitisse prodest.         Quidquid illud accidit,             iuvabit ore personasse Christum.      Epilogue: Hymns For The Christian'S Day         The pure and faithful saint, whose heart is whole,             To God the Father makes his sacrifice         From out the treasures of a stainless soul,             Glad gifts of innocence, beyond all price:         Another with free hand bestows his gold,             Whereby his needy neighbour may be fed.         No wealth of holiness my heart doth hold,             No store have I to buy my brothers bread:         So here I humbly dedicate to Thee             The rolling trochee and iambus swift;         Thou wilt approve my simple minstrelsy,             Thine ear will listen to Thy servant's gift.         The rich man's halls are nobly furnishd;             Therein no nook or corner empty seems;         Here stands the brazen laver burnishd,             And there the golden goblet brightly gleams;         Hard by some crock of clumsy earthen ware,             Massive and ample lies a silver plate;         And rough-hewn cups of oak or elm are there             With vases carved of ivory delicate.         Yet every vessel in its place is good,             So be it for the Master's service meet;         The priceless salver and the bowl of wood             Alike He needs to make His home complete.         Therefore within His Father's spacious hall             Christ fits me for the service of a day,         Mean though I be, a vessel poor and small,--             And in some lowly corner lets me stay.         Lo in the palace of the King of Kings             I play the earthen pitcher's humble part;         Yet to have done Him meanest service brings             A thrill of rapture to my thankful heart:         Whate'er the end, this thought will joy afford,             My lips have sung the praises of my Lord.