Feast of Edward the Confessor, 1066 When night comes, list thy deeds; make plain the way 'Twixt heaven and thee; block it not with delays; But perfect all before thou sleep'st: then say: There's one sun more strung on my Bead of days. What's good, score up for joy; the bad, well scanned. Wash off with tears, and get thy Master's hand.

Easter Feast of George, Martyr, Patron of England, c.304 Commemoration of Michael Ramsey, Archbishop of Canterbury, Teacher, 1988 I greet Thy sepulchre, salute Thy grave, That blest enclosure, where the angels gave The first glad tidings of Thy early light, And resurrection from the earth and night. I see that morning in Thy convert's tears, Fresh as the dew, which but this downing wears. I smell her spices; and her ointment yields As rich a scent as the now primrosed fields: The Day-star smiles, and light, with Thee deceased, Now shines in all the chambers of the East.

So stick up ivy and the bays, and then restore the heathen ways, green will remind you of the Spring, though this great day denies the thing, and mortifies the earth, and all, but your wild revels, and loose hall.

Caesar had perished from the world of men, had not his sword been rescued by his pen.

They are all gone into the world of light, and I alone sit lingering here.

Man hath still either toys or care: But hath no root, nor to one place is tied, but ever restless and irregular, about this earth doth run and ride. He knows he hath a home, but scarce knows where; He says it is so far, that he has quite forgot how to go there