y of Fortunatus is not of the highest order, he
has bequeathed some magnificent hymns to the Christian Church. No one has
ever sung of the Cross with such deep pathos and sublime tenderness:

Faithful Cross! above all other,
One and only noble tree!
None in foliage, none in blossom,
None in fruit thy peer may be;
Sweetest wood and sweetest iron!
Sweetest weight is hung on thee.

Bend thy boughs, O Tree of Glory!
Thy relaxing sinews bend;
For awhile the ancient rigor
That thy birth bestowed, suspend;
And the King of heavenly beauty
On thy bosom gently tend!

Thou alone wast counted worthy
This world's Ransom to uphold;
For a shipwrecked race preparing
Harbor, like the Ark of old;
With the sacred blood anointed
From the smitten Lamb that rolled.

And again:

O Tree of beauty, Tree of Light!
O Tree with royal purple dight!
Elect on whose triumphal breast
Those holy limbs should find their rest:
On whose dear arms, so widely flung,
The weight of this world's Ransom hung:
The price of humankind to pay,
And spoil the spoiler of his prey.

Fortunatus' famous Passion hymn, _Pange lingua glorioso_, is also the
basis for the beautiful Easter hymn:

Praise the Saviour
Now and ever!
Praise Him all beneath the skies!
Prostrate lying,
Suffering, dying,
On the Cross, a Sacrifice;
Victory gaining,
Life obtaining,
Now in glory He doth rise.

Another Easter hymn, "Welcome, happy morning! age to age shall say," has
a triumphant ring in its flowing lines. His odes to Ascension day and
Whitsunday are similar in character.

That Fortunatus had a true evangelical conception of Christ and His
atonement may be seen in his well-known hymn, _Lustra sex qui jam
peregit_:

Holy Jesus, grant us grace
In Thy sacrifice to place
All our trust for life renewed,
Pardoned sin and promised good.

A Tribute to the Dying Saviour

O sacred Head, now wounded,
With grief and shame weighed down,
Now scornfully surrounded,
With thorns Thine only crown!
Once reigning in the highest
In light and majesty,
Dishonored now Thou diest,
Yet here I worship Thee.

How art Thou pale with anguish,
With sore abuse and scorn!
How does that visage languish,
Which once w