Part 13

_To the assembly of all the Saints._

Thrice-happy souls, to whom the prize is given, Whom faith and truth have lifted into heaven: Gift of the heavenly Martyrs' dying breath, Gift of a Faith that burst the gates of Death. O Spring, O golden harvest of glad light; Sweet day, whose beauty never fades in night; The palm blooms in each hand, the garland on each brow, The raiment glitters in its undimm'd snow; The regions of unfading peace ye see, And the meek brightness of the Lamb: how different from me![78] W.

ANOTHER VERSION.

Thrice-happy, happy souls, to you heaven's debt Is paid; you in your heavenly spheres are set. Whence this to you? ah, noble blood ye shed, And your strong faith the strong world buffeted. O ever-ripening harvest of long light; O Spring, O day not halved with lingering night; O hands with laughing palms, O crowned brows; O spotless robes, whiter than virgin snows! The beauteous eyes of fadeless Peace ye see-- The eyes of the sweet Lamb; yea--woe is me! A.

CXLV.

_Christus absenti medetur._ Matt. viii. 13.

Vox jam missa suas potuit jam tangere metas? O superi, non hoc ire sed isse fuit. Mirac'lum fuit ipsa salus, bene credere possis, Ipsum, mirac'lum est, quando salutis iter.

_Christ heals in absence._

Came, then, His voice with power, Himself unseen? Heavens! this, though not to go, was to have been. The cure miraculous we can credit well, When the mere going was a miracle. CL.

CXLVI.

_Caecus natus._ Joan. ix. 1, 2.

Felix, qui potuit tantae post nubila noctis, O dignum tanta nocte, videre diem: Felix ille oculus, felix utrinque putandus, Quod videt, et primum quod videt ille Deum.

_The man born blind._

Happy the man who was endu'd with sight, And saw a day well worth so long a night: Happy the eye, twice happy is the eye, That sees, and at first look, a Deity. B.

ANOTHER VERSION.

Thrice-happy eye, that after such dark night-- Day worthy night so dark--couldst see the light: O happy eye, eye thrice and four times blest, At once to ope, and upon God to rest. A.

CXLVII.

_Et ridebant illum._ Matt. ix. 24.

Luctibus in tantis, Christum ridere vacabat? Vanior iste fuit risus, an iste dolor? Luctibus in tantis hic vester risus inepti, Credite mi, meruit maximus esse dolor.

_And they laughed at Him._

Laughter at Christ the Saviour-- Laughter 'mid falling tears! O, which show'd greater folly, Vain laughter or vain fears? Such laughter 'mid such sorrow, O fools, ye may believe: Such laughter in such Presence Gave greatest cause to grieve. G.

CXLVIII.

_In sapientiam seculi._ Matt. xi. 25.

Noli altum sapere, hoc veteres voluere magistri, Ne retrahat lassos alta ruina gradus. Immo mihi dico, Noli sapuisse profundum: Non ego ad infernum me sapuisse velim.

_The wisdom of the world._

'Aim not at things too high,' 'twas said of old, 'Lest ruin thence o'ertake thee, over-bold.' For me to dive too deep I think not well: I would not have my knowledge deep as hell. CL.

CXLIX.

_In stabulum ubi natus est Dominus._

Illa domus stabulum? non est, Puer auree, non est: Illa domus, qua tu nasceris, est stabulum? Illa domus toto domus est pulcherrima mundo; Vix coelo dici vult minor illa tuo.[79] Cernis ut illa suo passim domus ardeat auro? Cernis ut effusis rideat illa rosis? Sive aurum non est, nec quae rosa rideat illic; Ex oculis facile est esse probare tuis.

{Oikos hod' est' aule? ou me. teos oikos, Iesou, En th' o ty tikte aulion ou peletai. Oikon men panton mala de kallistos ekeinos; Ouranou oude teou mikroteros peletai. Enide keino neo dom' empyrizeto chryso, Enide keino neois doma rhodoisi gela. En rhodon ouchi gela, en oude te chrysos ekeithen; Ek sou d' ophthalmon estin elenchemenai.}

_On the stable where our Lord was born._

That house a stable? nay, bright Infant, nay: Where Thou art born--a stable do we say? Of mansions in this world fairest of all, That house but little less than heaven we call. Seest thou that house with golden splendour flush? Seest thou that house with scatter'd roses blush? There is no gold, no rose there laughing lies: It is the light that falls from His fair eyes. A.

CL.

_S. Stephanus amicis suis, funus sibi curantibus._ Act. vii. 57-60.

Nulla, precor, busto surgant mihi marmora: bustum Haec mihi sint mortis conscia saxa meae. Sic nec opus fuerit, notet ut quis carmine bustum, Pro Domino, dicens, occidit ille suo. Hic mihi sit tumulus, quem mors dedit ipsa; meique Ipse hic martyrii sit mihi martyrium.

_St. Stephen to his friends, to raise no monument._

I pray you, raise, my friends, no tomb for me, But let these conscious stones my record be; Nor will there then be need of verse to tell That here for his dear Lord a martyr fell. That which brought death, a tomb shall also bring, And be the witness of my witnessing. CL.

CLI.

_In D. Joannem, quem Domitianus ferventi oleo illaesum indidit._

Illum qui, toto currens vaga flammula mundo, Non quidem Joannes, ipse sed audit amor-- Illum ignem extingui, bone Domitiane, laboras? Hoc non est oleum, Domitiane, dare.[80]

_On St. John, whom Domitian cast into a caldron of boiling oil, he unhurt._

That fire--which o'er the world a wandering flame, Bears not the name of John, but Love's own name-- To quench, my good Domitian, dost thou toil? Fire scarce is quench'd, methinks, by adding oil. CL.

CLII.

_In tenellos martyres._

Ah, qui tam propero cecidit sic funere, vitae Hoc habuit tantum, possit ut ille mori. At cujus Deus est sic usus funere, mortis Hoc tantum, ut possit vivere semper, habet.

_The infant-martyrs._

Fallen, alas, in life's most tender dawn, With only so much life as die they may. But they 'gainst whom Death's arrows thus are drawn, Only taste death that they may live for aye. G.

CLIII.

_Attulerunt ei omnes male affectos daemoniacos, lunaticos: et sanavit eos._ Matt. iv. 24.

Collige te tibi, torve Draco, furiasque facesque, Quasque vocant pestes nox Erebusque suas: Fac colubros jam tota suos tua vibret Erinnys; Collige, collige te fortiter, ut pereas.

_They brought unto Him all sick people that were taken with divers diseases and torments, and those which were possessed with devils, and those which were lunatick, and those that had the palsy; and He healed them._

Gather thy powers, grim Dragon, furies, flames, All plagues which Erebus or midnight claims, Bid each Erinnys high her serpents flourish; Bring all, bring all, that thou mayst wholly perish.[81] R. WI.

CLIV.

_Tuam ipsius animam pertransibit gladius._ Luc. ii. 35.

Quando habeat gladium tua, Christe, tragoedia nullum, Quis fuerit gladius, Virgo beata, tuus? Namque nec ulla alias tibi sunt data vulnera, Virgo, Quam quae a vulneribus sunt data, Christe, tuis. Forsan quando senex jam caligantior esset, Quod Simeon gladium credidit, hasta fuit. Immo neque hasta fuit, neque clavus, sed neque spina: Hei mihi, spina tamen, clavus et hasta fuit. Nam queiscunque malis tua, Christe, tragoedia crevit, Omnia sunt gladius, Virgo beata, tuus.

_A sword shall pierce through thy own soul._

Since in the tragedy Wrought upon Calvary, No sword, O Christ, hast Thou, Whence, then, shall come the blow To Mary, virgin-mother?

Not any wounds are given, Save as her Son is riven: No sword, O Christ, hast Thou; Whence, then, shall come the blow To Mary, virgin-mother?

Perchance the dim-ey'd seer By sword intended spear: No sword, O Christ, hast Thou; Whence, then, shall come the blow To Mary, virgin-mother?

Not spear or nail or thorn, Yet by all these I'm torn: No sword, O Christ, hast Thou; O whence, then, comes the blow To Mary, virgin-mother?

In the dread tragedy Wrought upon Calvary, Whate'er, O suff'ring Lord, Smote Thee, pierc'd as a sword Mary, the virgin-mother. G.

CLV.

_In sanguinem circumcisionis dominicae. Ad convivas, quos haec dies apud nos solennes habet._

Heus, conviva! bibin'? Maria haec, Mariaeque puellus, Mittunt de prelo musta bibenda suo. Una quidem est, toti quae par tamen unica mundo, Unica gutta, suo quae tremit orbiculo. O bibite hinc; quale aut quantum vos cunque bibistis, Credite mi, nil tam suave bibistis adhuc. O bibite et bibite, et restat tamen usque bibendum: Restat, quod poterit nulla domare sitis. Scilicet hic, mensura sitis, mensura bibendi est: Haec quantum cupias vina bibisse, bibis.

_On the blood of the Lord's circumcision._

Ah, friend, wilt drink? Mary and her Babe divine Send from their press, for drinking, this new wine. One drop, yet this round world in worth resembling, A single drop in tiny circlet trembling. Drink hence; whate'er ye've drunk, how much soever, Trust me, such pleasant drink ye've met with never. Drink, drink again; to drink is left for you-- Is left what mortal thirst can ne'er subdue. Thirst's limit here will drinking's bound define: You drink all that you would drink of this wine. R. WI.

CLVI.

_Puer Jesus inter doctores._ Luc. ii. 46.

Fallitur, ad mentum qui pendit quemque profundum, Ceu possint laeves nil sapuisse genae. Scilicet e barba male mensuratur Apollo; Et bene cum capitis stat nive, mentis hyems. Discat, et a tenero disci quoque posse magistro, Canitiem capitis nec putet esse caput.

_The Child Jesus among the doctors._

To weigh a man by bearded chin is vain, As if smooth cheeks no wisdom could contain. Forsooth the beard is a poor gauge of wit; With mental winter snowy head may fit. Hear what wise words from a Child-teacher fall, Nor think a hoary head the head of all. R. WI.

CLVII.

_Ad Christum, de aqua in vinum versa._ Joan. ii. 1-11.

Signa tuis tuus hostis habet contraria signis: In vinum tristes tu mihi vertis aquas. Ille autem e vino lacrymas et jurgia ducens, Vina iterum in tristes, hei mihi! mutat aquas.

_To our Lord, upon the water made wine._

Thou water turn'st to wine, faire friend of life; Thy foe, to crosse the sweet arts of Thy reigne, Distills from thence the teares of wrath and strife, And so turnes wine to water backe againe. CR.

ANOTHER VERSION.

Blessing's in Thy every sign, But the Tempter each pollutes: Thou the water makest wine, He the wine to woe transmutes. G.

CLVIII.

_Christus infans Patri sistitur in templo._ Luc. ii. 22-33.

Agnus eat ludatque, licet, sub patre petulco; Cumque sua longum conjuge turtur agat. Conciliatorem nihil hic opus ire per agnum, Nec tener ut volucris non sua fata ferat. Hactenus exigua haec, quasi munera, lusimus; haec quae Multum excusanti sunt capienda manu. Hoc donum est; de quo, toto tibi dicimus ore, Sume, Pater: meritis hoc tibi sume suis. Donum hoc est, hoc est; quod scilicet audeat ipso Esse Deo dignum: scilicet ipse Deus.

_The Infant Christ is presented to the Father in the temple._

Let the lamb go, by horned sire to play; The turtle, with its mate, flee far away: No need is here of lamb to mediate, Or tender bird to bear another's fate. At those poor offerings once, as 'twere, we play'd, Receiv'd by One who much allowance made. This is a gift the full-voic'd boast to wake, 'Take it, O Father, on its merits take.' A gift, a gift this is, which need not fear Being fit for God, since God Himself is here. R. WI.

CLIX.

_Leprosus Dominum implorans._ Matt. viii. 2.

Credo quod ista potes, velles modo: sed quia credo, Christe, quod ista potes, credo quod ista voles. Tu modo, tu faciles mihi, sol meus, exere vultus; Non poterit radios nix mea ferre tuos.[82]

_The leper beseeching._

I believe, Lord, Thou'rt able if Thou'rt willing, And I believe Thou'rt willing as Thou'rt able. Shine on me, O my Sun: Thy rays distilling, Shall melt my snow, and give me healing stable. G.

CLX.

_Christus in tempestate._ Matt. viii. 23-27.

Quod fervet tanto circum te, Christe, tumultu, Non hoc ira maris, Christe, sed ambitio est. Haec illa ambitio est, hoc tanto te rogat ore, Possit ut ad monitus, Christe, tacere tuos.

_Why are ye afraid, O ye of little faith?_

As if the storme meant Him, Or 'cause Heaven's face is dim, His needs a cloud. Was ever froward wind That could be so unkind, Or wave so proud? The wind had need be angry, and the water black, That to the mighty Neptune's Self dare threaten wrack. There is no storm but this Of your own cowardise That braves you out; You are the storme that mocks Yourselves; you are the rocks Of your owne doubt: Besides this feare of danger there's no danger here, And he that here feares danger does deserve his feare. CR.

ANOTHER VERSION.

That the Sea with such violence falls on, 'Tis not his malice, but ambition: This the ambition, this the loud request, At Thy command, O Christ, to take his rest. B.

CLXI.

_Annunciant ritus, quos non licet nobis suscipere, cum simus Romani._ Act. xvi. 21.

Hoc Caesar tibi, Roma, tuus dedit, armaque? solis Romanis igitur non licet esse piis? Ah, melius, tragicis nullus tibi Caesar in armis Altus anhelanti detonuisset equo; Nec domini volucris facies horrenda per orbem Sueta tibi in signis torva venire tuis: Quam miser ut staret de te tibi, Roma, triumphus, Ut tanta fieres ambitione nihil. Non tibi, sed sceleri vincis: proh laurea tristis, Laurea, Cerbereis aptior umbra comis. Tam turpi vix ipse pater diademate Pluto, Vix sedet ipse suo tam niger in solio. De tot Caesareis redit hoc tibi, Roma, triumphis: Caesaree, aut, quod idem est, egregie misera es.

_They teach customs which are not lawful for us to receive, neither to observe, being Romans._

Rome, have thy Caesar's arms wrought this for thee, That Romans only may not Christians be? Better for thee no Caesar had waged war, High-thundering on his fiery steed afar; Nor eagle's lordly form o'er all the world Had aye on thy stern ensigns been unfurl'd. How poor a triumph, Rome, o'er thyself wrought, By dint of such ambition to be--nought! Conquering for sin, not Rome; sad laurel-wreath, More fit to shadow Cerberus' locks beneath. Old Pluto scarce wears diadem so base, Sits scarce so swart enthron'd in his own place. Caesarean triumphs, Rome, win this for thee-- Caesarean, that is, highest misery. R. WI.

CLXII.

_Hic lapis fiat panis._ Matt. iv. 3.

Et fuit ille lapis, quidni sit dicere? panis, Christe, fuit: panis sed tuus ille fuit. Quippe Patris cum sic tulerit suprema voluntas, Est panis, panem non habuisse, tuus.

{Artos een toi det', eipein themis estin, ekeinos, Christe, toi artos een kai lithos, alla teos. En hou tos tou patros ee megalou to thelema, Artos hot' ouk en toi, Christe, toi artos een.}

_Command that this stone become a loaf._

And so it was; bread was that stone; Such bread, Christ, as was all Thine own. Since God so will'd that it should be, To have no bread was bread to Thee. G.

CLXIII.

_Mulier Canaanitis._ Matt. xv. 22.

Quicquid Amazoniis dedit olim fama puellis, Credite: Amazoniam cernimus, ecce, fidem. Foemina, tam fortis fidei? jam credo fidem esse Plus quam grammatice foeminei generis.

_The woman of Canaan._

Whate'er Fame tells of Amazons of old, Believe: here Amazonian faith behold. Of such strong faith a woman? Faith I see More than in grammar feminine to be. R. WI.

CLXIV.

_Deus, post expulsum daemonem mutum, maledicis Judaeis os obturat._ Luc. xi. 14.

Una pene opera duplicem tibi daemona frangis: Iste quidem daemon mutus; at ille loquax. Scilicet in laudes, quae non tibi laurea surgit? Non magis hic loquitur, quam tacet ille tuas.

_Upon the dumbe devill cast out, and the slanderous Jewes put to silence._

Two devills at one blow Thou hast laid flat; A speaking devill this, a dumbe one that. Was't Thy full victorie's fairer increase, That th' one spake, or that th' other held his peace? CR.

CLXV.

_Dicebant, Vere hic est Propheta._ Joan. vi. 14.

Post tot quae videant, tot quae miracula tangant, Haec et quae gustent, Christe, dabas populo: Jam Vates, Rex, et quicquid pia nomina possunt, Christus erat: vellem dicere, venter erat. Namque his, quicquid erat Christus, de ventre repleto Omne illud vero nomine venter erat.

_They said, This is of a truth that Prophet._

When Christ had given the multitude so much, So many miracles to see, taste, touch; Now Prophet, King, the holiest name Heaven wishes, Was Christ: I'd rather call it 'Loaves and fishes.' Whate'er Christ was, to their stay'd appetite 'Twas all more truly 'Loaves and fishes' dight. R. WI.

CLXVI.

_Christus ambulabat in porticu Salomonis, et hyems erat._ Joan. x. 22.

Bruma fuit? non, non; ah, non fuit ore sub isto: Si fuit, haud anni, nec sua bruma fuit. Bruma tibi vernis velit ire decentior horis, Per sibi non natas expatiata rosas. At tibi ne possit se tam bene bruma negare, Sola haec, quam vibrat gens tua, grando[83] vetat.

_It was winter, and Jesus walked in Solomon's porch._

Was't winter? No, O no; beneath that Face: At least no natural winter there found place. Winter for Thee would breathe Spring's beauteous hours, With roses crowd its unaccustom'd bowers. But lest so sweetly Winter should retire, Lo, this hail hinders, hurl'd by Jewish ire. R. WI.

CLXVII.

_Dederunt nummos militibus._ Matt. xxviii. 12.

Ne miles velit ista loqui, tu munera donas? Donas, quod possit, cum tacet ipse, loqui. Quae facis a quoquam, pretio suadente, taceri; Clarius, et dici turpius ista facis.

_They gave large money to the soldiers._

The soldiers' silence is't with money bought? Thy gift will tell a tale, though they say nought. Whatever with a bribe thou fain wouldst hide, More shamefully thou spreadest far and wide. R. WI.

CLXVIII.

_Beatae Virgini: de salutatione angelica._ Luc. i. 26-28.

{Chaire} suum neque Caesareus jam nuntiet ales; {Chaire} tuum penna candidiore venit. Sed taceat, qui {chaire} tuum quoque nuntiat, ales; {Chaire} meum penna candidiore venit. Quis dicat mihi {chaire} meum mage candidus autor, Quam tibi quae dicat candidus ille tuum? Virgo, rogas, quid candidius quam candidus ille Esse potest? Virgo, quae rogat, esse potest. {Chaire} tuum, Virgo, donet tibi candidus ille; Donas candidior tu mihi {chaire} meum. {Chaire} meum de {chaire} tuo quid differat, audi: Ille tuum dicit, tu paris, ecce, meum.

_To the blessed Virgin: concerning the angelic salutation._

Its 'hail' Caesarean eagle need not bring; Thy 'hail' comes wafted on a whiter wing. But let the 'all-hail' angel e'en be still; My 'hail' comes flitting on a whiter quill. To say my 'hail' what whiter being can be Than that white being who utters thine to thee? Virgin, dost ask what whiter than that white Might be? The Virgin who is asking, might. That white one, Virgin, may give 'hail' to thee; But thou, more white, dost give my 'hail' to me. My 'hail' o'er thy 'hail,' wouldst thou know its worth; He utters thine, but mine thou bringest forth. R. WI.

CLXIX.

_Pontio lavanti._ Matt. xxvii. 24.

Non satis est caedes, nisi stuprum hoc insuper addas, Et tam virgineae sis violator aquae? Nympha quidem pura haec et honesti filia fontis Luget, adulterio jam temerata tuo. Casta verecundo properat cum murmure gutta, Nec satis in lacrymam se putat esse suam. Desine tam nitidos stuprare, ah desine, rores: Aut dic, quae miseras unda lavabit aquas.

_To Pontius washing his blood-stained hands._

Is murther no sin? or a sin so cheape That thou need'st heape A rape upon't? Till thy adult'rous touch Taught her these sullied cheeks, this blubber'd face, She was a nimph, the meadowes knew none such; Of honest parentage, of unstain'd race; The daughter of a faire and well-fam'd fountaine As ever silver-tipt the side of shady mountaine.

See how she weeps, and weeps, that she appeares Nothing but teares: Each drop's a teare that weeps for her own wast. Harke how at every touch she does complaine her; Harke how she bids her frighted drops make hast, And with sad murmurs chides the hands that stain her. Leave, leave, for shame; or else, good judge, decree What water shal wash this when this hath washed thee. CR.

CLXX.

_In die passionis dominicae._

Tamne ego sim tetricus? valeant jejunia: vinum Est mihi dulce meo, nec pudet esse, cado. Est mihi quod castis, neque prelum passa, racemis Palmite virgineo protulit uva parens. Hoc mihi, ter denis sat enim maturuit annis, Tandem, ecce, e dolio praebibit hasta suo. Jamque it; et o quanto calet actus aromate torrens, Acer ut hinc aura divite currit odor! Quae rosa per cyathos volitat tam vina Falernos? Massica quae tanto sidere vina tremunt? O ego nescibam; atque ecce est vinum illud amoris, Unde ego sim tantis, unde ego par cyathis. Vincor: et o istis totus prope misceor auris: Non ego sum tantis, non ego par cyathis. Sed quid ego invicti metuo bona robora vini? Ecce est, quae validum diluit[84] unda merum.

_On the day of the Lord's Passion._

Should I be dull? Fastings farewell! Sweet wine I have--nor am asham'd--in cask of mine, Which the full grape, unprest, from virgin shoot Produced for me in purest cluster'd fruit. This wine, now mellow'd by the thirtieth year, Lo, from the 'wood' will pour at touch of spear. It pours, and O how sweet the torrent glows, How sharp an odour on the rich air flows! What bouquet thus breathes from Falernian jars? What Massic wines tremble beneath such stars? O, I knew not; and, lo, this is Love's wine, Whence I such draughts, e'en I, need not decline. Vanquish'd, I wholly faint these airs along; I am no match, not I, for draughts so strong. But wherefore fear I their blest strength divine? Behold the water mingled with the wine! R. WI.

CLXXI.

_In die resurrectionis dominicae venit ad sepulchrum Magdalena ferens aromata._