Flocks of faithful, who have followed in the footsteps of their Pastors:  all the Saints of heaven, who as shining lights in purity and holiness have gone before the crowd of mankind.  You will find that these were ours when they lived on earth, ours when they passed away from this world.  To cull a few instances, ours was that Ignatius, who in church matters put no one not even the Emperor, on a level with the Bishop; who committed to writing, that they might not be lost, certain Apostolic traditions of which he himself had been witness.  Ours was that anchoret Telesphorus, who ordered the more strict observance of the fast of Lent established by the Apostles.  Ours was Irenaeus, who declared the Apostolic faith by the Roman succession and chair (lib. iii. cap. 3).  Ours was Pope Victor, who by an edict brought to order the whole of Asia; and though this proceeding seemed to some minds, and even to that holy man Irenaeus, somewhat harsh, yet no one made light of it as coming from a foreign power.  Ours was Polycarp, who went to Rome on the question of Easter, whose burnt relics Smyrna gathered, and honoured her Bishop with an anniversary feast and appointed ceremony.  Ours were Cornelius and Cyprian, a golden pair of Martyrs, both great Bishops, but greater he, the Roman, who had rescinded the African error; while the latter was ennobled by the obedience which he paid to the elder, his very dear friend.  Ours was Sixtus, to whom, as he offered solemn sacrifice at the altar, seven men of the clergy ministered.  Ours was his Archdeacon Lawrence, whom the adversaries cast out of their calendar, to whom, twelve hundred years ago, the Consular man Prudentius thus prayed: 

   What is the power entrusted thee,
   And how great function is given thee,
   The joyful thanks of Roman citizens prove,
   To whom thou grantest their petitions. 
   Among them, O glory of Christ,
   Hear also a rustic poet,
   Confessing the crimes of his heart
   And publishing his doings. 
   Hear bountifully the supplication
   Of Christ’s culprit Prudentius.

Ours are those highly-blest maids, Cecily, Agatha, Anastasia, Barbara, Agnes, Lucy, Dorothy, Catherine, who held fast against the violent assault of men and devils the virginity they had resolved upon.  Ours was Helen, celebrated for the finding of the Lord’s Cross.  Ours was Monica, who in death most piously begged prayers and sacrifices to be offered for her at the altar of Christ.  Ours was Paula, who, leaving her City palace and her rich estates, hastened on a long journey a pilgrim to the cave at Bethlehem, to hide herself by the cradle of the Infant Christ.  Ours were Paul, Hilarion, Antony, those dear ancient solitaries.  Ours was Satyrus, own brother to Ambrose, who, when shipwrecked, jumped into the ocean, carrying about his neck in a napkin the Sacred Host, and full of faith swam to shore (Ambrose, Orat. fun. de Satyro).