Part 9

Hath only Anger an omnipotence In eloquence? Within the lips of Love and Joy doth dwell No miracle? Why else had Balaam's asse a tongue to chide His master's pride, And thou, heaven-burthen'd beast, hast ne're a word To praise thy Lord? That he should find a tongue and vocal thunder Was a great wonder; But O, methinkes, 'tis a farre greater one That thou find'st none. CR.

MORE CLOSELY.

The ass of old had power to chide its wilful lord; And hast not thou the power to speak one praiseful word? Not less a marvel, sure, this silence is in thee Than that the ass of old to speak had liberty. G.

III.

_Dominus apud suos vilis._ Luc. iv. 28-29.

En consanguinei! patriis en exul in oris Christus! et haud alibi tam peregrinus erat. Qui socio demum pendebat sanguine latro, O consanguineus quam fuit ille magis!

_The Lord 'despised and rejected' by His own people._

See, O my kinsmen, what strange thing is this! Christ in's own country a great stranger is. The thief which bled upon the Cross with Thee Was more ally'd in consanguinity.[44] B.

IV.

_Ad Bethesdae piscinam positus._ Joan. v. 1-16.

Quis novus hic refugis incumbit Tantalus undis, Quem fallit toties tam fugitiva salus? Unde hoc naufragium felix medicaeque procellae, Vitaque tempestas quam pretiosa dedit?

_The cripple at the Pool of Bethesda._

What Tantalus is this, who health still craves So oft, yet vainly, from the refluent waves? And whence this happy wreck, this healing strife, This storm that drifts its victim into life? CL.

ANOTHER VERSION.

What new Tantalus is here, Couch'd by this swift-ebbing wave, Whom the healing flood comes near, Then retiring fails to save?

O, what happy shipwreck this, And a cure by conflict wrought! Strange that woe should thus win bliss, From disaster life be brought! G.

V.

_Christus ad Thomam._ Joan. xx. 26-29.

Saeva fides, voluisse meos tractare dolores! Crudeles digiti, sic didicisse Deum! Vulnera ne dubites, vis tangere nostra: sed, eheu, Vulnera, dum dubitas, tu graviora facis.

_Christ to Thomas._

Harsh faith, and wouldst thou probe these signs of woe? O cruel fingers, would ye prove God so? Touch them, lest thou shouldst doubt? Then have thy will; But, ah, thy doubting makes them deeper still. CL.

ANOTHER RENDERING.

O cruel faith, afresh my pangs to move! O ruthless fingers, thus their Lord to prove! See, touch the wounds; doubt not; but with such doubt Thou makest all those wounds afresh gush out. A.

VI.

_Quisquis perdiderit animam suam mea causa inveniet eam._ Matt. xvi. 25.

I, vita, i, perdam: mihi mors tua, Christe, reperta est: Mors tua vita mea est; mors tibi vita mea. Aut ego te abscondam Christi, mea vita, sepulchro: Non adeo procul est tertius ille dies.

_Whosoever will lose his life for My sake shall find it._

Away, my life! Lord Christ, I have Thy death: My life's Thy death, and Thy death gives me breath. But come, my life, I'll hide thee in His tomb: The third day hence is not so long to come. A.

VII.

_Primo mane venit ad sepulchrum Magdalena._ Joan. xx. 1.

Tu matutinos praevertis, sancta, rubores, Magdala; sed jam tum Sol tuus ortus erat.[45] Jamque vetus merito vanos sol non agit ortus, Et tanti radios non putat esse suos. Quippe aliquo, reor, ille novus jam nictat in astro, Et se nocturna parvus habet facula. Quam velit o tantae vel nuntius esse diei, Atque novus Soli Lucifer ire novo!

_[Mary] Magdalene early, when it was yet dark, cometh unto the sepulchre._

Thou holy Magdalene, Ere rosy morn was seen, Awokest; but e'en then Thy Sun was in thy ken.

Now the great olden sun, Rising as wont upon The earth, is wildered With new beams round him shed.

Lo, as a star he seems, Or torch with nigh-quench'd beams; Keeping himself still small Before the Lord of All.

How well might'st thou, O Sun, Submit to be outshone, And, as a morning-star, Herald One grander far! G.

VIII.

_Quinque panes ad quinque hominum millia._ Joan. vi. 9.

En mensae faciles, redivivaque vulnera coenae, Quaeque indefessa provocat ora dape! Aucta Ceres stupet arcana se crescere messe. Denique quid restat? Pascitur ipse cibus.

_On the miracle of multiplyed loaves._

See here an easie feast that knows no wound, That under Hunger's teeth will needs be found; A subtle harvest of unbounded bread: What would ye more? Here Food itselfe is fed. CR.

ANOTHER VERSION.

Eas'ly-furnish'd table! And feast increas'd by eating: Still the mouth entreating.

The bread itself, unable To tell whence it flows, Finds it most surely grows.

Finds itself guest--no fable! Whence is the mystic dower? From Him Who is all power. G.

IX.

_Aethiops lotus._ Act. viii. 38.

Ille niger sacris exit, quam lautus! ab undis: Nec frustra Aethiopem nempe lavare fuit. Mentem quam niveam piceae cutis umbra fovebit? Tam volet et nigros sancta Columba lares.

_On the baptized Ethiopian._

Let it no longer be a forlorne hope To wash an Ethiope: He's washt; his gloomy skin a peacefull shade For his white soule is made: And now, I doubt not, the Eternall Dove A black-fac'd house will love. CR.

ANOTHER VERSION.

How fair this Ethiop comes from th' holy fount! To wash a Black we may not vain account. How bright a soul is in a cloudy skin! The Dove now loves a black house to dwell in. B.

X.

_Publicanus procul stans percutiebat pectus suum._ Luc. xviii. 13.

Ecce hic peccator timidus petit advena templum: Quodque audet solum, pectora moesta ferit. Fide miser; pulsaque fores has fortiter: illo Invenies templo tu propiore Deum.

_The publican standing afar off smote on his breast._

Lo, a sinner, timid stranger, Stranger to the Lord our God, Seeks, in consciousness of danger, Where to leave sin's awful load. He to the Temple now is come, Bow'd in dread beside the door; His pallid lips, behold, are dumb; He smites his bosom, dares no more. Ah, distress'd one, smite thee there In _that_ temple, God is near. G.

XI.

_[In] obolum viduae._ Marc. xii. 44.

Gutta brevis nummi, vitae patrona senilis, E digitis stillat non dubitantis anus; Istis multa vagi spumant de gurgite census: Isti abjecerunt scilicet; illa dedit.

{Kermatioio bracheia rhanis, biotoio t' aphaures Herkos, apostazei cheiros apo tromeras. Tois de anaskirta polys aphros anaideos olbou. hoi men aperrhipton; keina dedoke monon.}

_The widow's mites._

Two mites, two drops--yet all her house and land-- Falle from a steady heart though trembling hand: The others' wanton wealth foams high and brave. The other cast away; she only gave. CR.

XII.

_Maria vero assidens ad pedes ejus audiebat eum._ Luc. x. 39.

Aspice, namque novum est, ut ab hospite pendeat hospes! Hinc ori parat, hoc sumit ab ore cibos. Tune epulis adeo es, soror, officiosa juvandis, Et sinis has, inquit, Martha, perire dapes?

_Mary, which also sat at Jesus' feet, and heard His word._

Behold, a new thing here--host hanging on her Guest! Preparing for His mouth, His mouth's words are her feast! O Martha sister, spare thy labour and thy cost: Tending the food that perisheth, diviner food is lost. G.

XIII.

_In Spiritus Sancti descensum._ Act. ii.

Ferte sinus, o, ferte: cadit vindemia coeli, Sanctaque ab aethereis volvitur uva jugis. Felices nimium, queis tam bona musta bibuntur; In quorum gremium lucida pergit hiems! En caput, en ut nectareo micat et micat astro; Gaudet et in roseis viva corona comis. Illis, o Superi, quis sic neget ebrius esse? Illis, ne titubent, dant sua vina faces.

_The descent of the Holy Spirit._

Bear, O bosoms, bear ye what Heaven's vintage showers, Sacred clusters pouring from ethereal bowers. Too happy, surely, ye who drink of wine so good; It comes into your bosoms a sparkling, cooling flood. Behold, with nectar'd star each head is shining, shining; Around your purpl'd locks a crown of life entwining. O Spirit of all flesh, to drink who'd be denied, Since Thou, lest they should falter, mak'st wine a torch to guide? G.

XIV.

_Congestis omnibus peregre profectus est._ Luc. xv. 13.

Dic mihi, quo tantos properas, puer auree, nummos? Quorsum festinae conglomerantur opes? Cur tibi tota vagos ructans patrimonia census? Non poterunt siliquae nempe minoris emi?

ON THE PRODIGALL.

_The younger son gathered all together, and took his journey into a far country._

Tell me, bright boy, tell me, my golden lad, Whither away so frolick? why so glad? What all thy wealth in counsile? all thy state? Are husks so deare? troth, 'tis a mighty rate. CR.

XV.

_Non solum vinciri, sed et mori paratus sum._ Act. xxi. 13.

Non modo vinc'la, sed et mortem tibi, Christe, subibo, Paulus ait, docti callidus arte doli. Diceret hoc aliter: Tibi non modo velle ligari, Christe, sed et solvi[46] nempe paratus ero.

_I am ready not to be bound only, but to dye._

Come death, come bonds, nor do you shrink, my eares, At those hard words man's cowardize calls feares. Save those of feare, no other bands feare I; Nor other death than this--the feare to die. CR.

ANOTHER VERSION.

Not bonds for Thee, Lord, but death too I'll brave, Says Paul, adept in double-meanings grave. The words meant more: his wish was to be bound For Christ; but loosed too, and with Him found. G.

XVI.

_In Herodem_ {skolekobroton}. Act. xii. 23.

Ille Deus, Deus! haec populi vox unica: tantum, Vile genus, vermes credere velle negant. At cito se miseri, cito nunc errasse fatentur; Carnes degustant, ambrosiamque putant.

_On Herod worshipped as a god, eaten of worms._

A god! a god! one-mouth'd the people cry; Only the worms, vile tribe, his claim deny. Yet they, too, soon confess themselves astray, For in his flesh they find ambrosia. CL.

XVII.

_Videns ventum magnum timuit, et cum coepisset demergi, clamavit, &c._ Matt. xiv.

Petre, cades, o, si dubitas: o, fide: nec ipsum, Petre, negat fidis aequor habere fidem. Pondere pressa suo subsidunt caetera: solum, Petre, tuae mergit te levitatis onus.[47]

_When he saw the wind boisterous he was afraid; and beginning to sink, he cried, &c._

Peter! doubt, and thou sinkest! O, believe; The sea will not thy faith, Peter, deceive. Things by their weight subside into the wave; Thy lightness, Peter, threats a wat'ry grave. G.

XVIII.

_Obtulit eis pecunias._ Act. viii. 18.

Quorsum hos hic nummos profers? quorsum, impie Simon? Non ille hic Judas, sed tibi Petrus adest. Vis emisse Deum? potius, precor, hoc age, Simon, Si potes, ipse prius daemona vende tuum.

_He offered them money._

Money! what wouldst thou, impious? Look and see, 'Tis Peter, not Iscariot, speaks to thee. Wouldst thou buy God? Nay, Simon, change thy tone, And try to sell that demon of thine own. CL.

XIX.

_Umbra S. Petri medetur aegrotis._ Act. v. 15.

Conveniunt alacres, sic, sic juvat ire sub umbras, Atque umbras fieri, creditis? umbra vetat. O Petri umbra potens, quae non miracula praestat? Nunc quoque, Papa, tuum sustinet illa decus.

_The shadow of St. Peter heals the sick._

Beneath that shadow they delight to crowd; To turn to shades by that shade not allow'd. From Peter's shadow what may we not hope, Now all thy glory it sustains, O Pope! G.

XX.

_Tetigit linguam ejus, &c. ... et loquebatur ... et praecepit illis ne cui dicerent: illi vero eo magis praedicabant._ Marc. vii. 33, 36.

Christe, jubes muta ora loqui; muta ora loquuntur: Sana tacere jubes ora; nec illa tacent. Si digito tunc usus eras, muta ora resolvens; Nonne opus est tota nunc tibi, Christe, manu?

_The dumbe healed, and the people enjoyned silence._

Christ bids the dumbe tongue speake; it speakes: the sound Hee charges to be quiet; it runs round. If in the first He us'd His finger's touch, His hand's whole strength here could not be too much. CR.

ANOTHER VERSION.

Christ, the mute lips Thou bidst to speak; and lo, Straightway words flow: Thou mute wouldst have the speaking lips; but they Thee disobey. If, then, a single finger Thou didst use Mute tongues to loose, Thy whole hand now we need; for old and young Have ceaseless tongue. G.

XXI.

_Sacerdos quidam descendens eadem via vidit, et praeteriit._ Luc. x. 32.

Spectasne, ah, placidisque oculis mea vulnera tractas? O dolor! o nostris vulnera vulneribus! Pax oris quam torva tui est! quam triste serenum! Tranquillus miserum qui videt, ipse facit.

_And a certaine priest comming that way looked on him, and passed by._

Why dost thou wound my wounds, O thou that passest by, Handling and turning them with an unwounded eye? The calm that cools thine eye does shipwrack mine; for O, Unmov'd to see one wretched is to make him so. CR.

ANOTHER RENDERING.

Dost look upon my wounds, serene-faced Priest? Thy placid eyes give wounds more deep and sore. O, thy calm stare avert! pass on, at least: They who see woe unmov'd cause it, and more. G.

ANOTHER VERSION.

Canst look, and by with look so tranquil pass, Nor heed my wounds? O, wounds on wounds, alas! O peace, too grim! on it set little store: Who looks unmov'd on misery makes it more. A.

XXII.

_Leprosi ingrati._ Luc. xvii.

Dum linquunt Christum, ah morbus! sanantur euntes: Ipse etiam morbus sic medicina fuit. At sani Christum, mens ah male-sana! relinquunt: Ipsa etiam morbus sic medicina fuit.

_The ungrateful lepers._

Whilst leaving Christ--ah, fell disease!-- They're healed as they go: Their malady their medicine is, Because He will'd it so. But healed now--ah, mind diseas'd!-- They from the Lord depart: Their healing their disease is now, Bred in an ingrate heart. G.

XXIII.

_Ne soliciti estote tu crastinum._ Matt. vi. 34.

I, miser, inque tuas rape non tua tempora curas: Et nondum natis perge perire malis. Mi querulis satis una dies, satis angitur horis: Una dies lacrymis mi satis uda suis. Non mihi venturos vacat expectare dolores: Nolo ego, nolo hodie crastinus esse miser.

_Be ye not fretted about to-morrow._

Go, wretched mortal, antedate the day, Fill thee with care; Work thyself mis'ries, in a perverse way, Before they're there. Enough for me the day's cares in the day, The passing hour; Enough the tears that daily, yea or nay, In sorrow low'r. I have no leisure thus to antedate The coming woe, Nor to-day darken with to-morrow's fate; And so I go. G.

ANOTHER VERSION.

Wretch, to thy woes add not to-morrow morn; And haste not thou to groan with ills unborn. Each day's laments, each hour's griefs, me suffice; Each morn, noon, eve, with rueful weeping eyes. No leisure is to look for griefs to be: Stir not to-day to-morrow's pains in me. A.

XXIV.

_A telonio Matthaeus._ Matt. ix. 9.

Ah satis, ah nimis est: noli ultra ferre magistrum, Et lucro domino turpia colla dare. Jam fuge; jam, Matthaee, feri fuge regna tyranni: Inque bonam, felix i fugitive,[48] crucem.

_Matthew called from the receipt of custom._

Enough, too much; no more a master's yoke Endure, nor bow to lordly Lucre's stroke: His service from thy slavish neck is broke.

Flee, Matthew, flee the cruel tyrant's sway, And hie thee, like a happy runaway, To the sweet cross that waits for thee to-day. R. WI.

XXV.

_Viduae filius e feretro matri redditur._ Luc. vii. 15.

En redeunt, lacrymasque breves nova gaudia pensant; Bisque illa est, uno in pignore, facta parens. Felix quae magis es nati per funera mater: Amisisse, iterum cui peperisse fuit.

_The dead son re-delivered to his mother._

Sweet restoration! by new joys outweigh'd, Brief sorrow is exil'd, And the lorn widow is a mother made Twice in her only child.

O happy mother! then a mother most When all her hopes seem'd vain: Happy, who wept beside a dear son lost, And found him born again. CL.

XXVI.

_Bonum intrare in coelos cum uno oculo, &c._ Matt. xviii. 9.

Uno oculo? ah centum potius mihi, millia centum: Nam quis ibi, in coelo, quis satis Argus erit? Aut si oculus mihi tantum unus conceditur, unus Iste oculus fiam totus et omnis ego.

_It is better to go into heaven with one eye, &c._

One eye? a thousand rather, and a thousand more, To fix those full-fac't glories. O, he's poore Of eyes that has but Argus' store! Yet, if thou'lt fill one poore eye with Thy Heaven and Thee, O grant, sweet Goodnesse, that one eye may be All and every whit of me. CR.

ANOTHER VERSION.

With one eye! Ah! but rather to me give A hundred or a hundred-thousand, Lord. All Argus' eyes were no superlative To view the glories Thy three heavens afford.

Or, O my God, if unto those who die, It be Thy will only to give one eye, Grant my whole body that one eye to be, That thus I may forever gaze on Thee. G.

XXVII.

_Hydropicus sanatur._ Luc. xiv. 2-4.

Ipse suum pelagus, morboque immersus aquoso Qui fuit, ut laetus nunc micat atque levis: Quippe in vina iterum Christus, puto, transtulit undas; Et nunc iste suis ebrius est ab aquis.

Himself is his own sea; Dropsy his malady In sad severity.

But Christ the Lord he sees, Who touching him him frees; Now joyous and at ease.

Again, as I opine, The Lord transmutes to wine By miracle divine;

And now, still more and more, His own wine-water store Pours mirth at ev'ry pore. G.

XXVIII.

_Non erat iis in diversorio locus._ Luc. ii. 7.

Illi non locus est? Illum ergo pellitis? Illum? Ille Deus, quem sic pellitis; ille Deus. O furor! humani miracula saeva furoris! Illi non locus est, quo sine nec locus est.

_There was no room for them in the inn._

No place for Him! So Him you drive away; You drive away your God, your God. O, stay! O height of human madness! wonders rare! No place for Him! without Whom no place were. G.

XXIX.

_In lacrymas Lazari spretas a Divite._ Luc. xvi.

Felix, o, lacrymis, o Lazare, ditior istis, Quam qui purpureas it gravis inter opes: Illum cum rutili nova purpura vestiet ignis, Ille tuas lacrymas quam volet esse suas.

_Upon Lazarus his teares._

Rich Lazarus, richer in those gems, thy teares, Than Dives in the roabes he weares: He scornes them now; but, O, they'l suit full well With th' purple he must weare in Hell! CR.

ANOTHER RENDERING.

O happy Lazarus! richer in thy tears Than he who midst his riches purple wears. Hell's purple flames red-glowing shall be his: Ah, then how shall he count thy tears a bliss!

XXX.

_Indignatur Caiphas Christo se confitenti._ Matt. xxvi. 65.

Tu Christum, Christum quod non negat esse lacessis: Ipsius hoc crimen, quod fuit ipse, fuit. Tene Sacerdotem credam? Novus ille Sacerdos Per quem impune Deo non licet esse Deum.

_Caiphas angry that Christ confesses He is the Christ._

Wroth that The Christ confesseth Christ He is! His fault that He is but Himself, I wis. Thee shall I reckon priest? Strange priest is he Who leaves not God His own Divinity! G.

XXXI.

_Cum tot signa edidisset, non credebant in eum._ Joan. xii. 37.

Non tibi, Christe, fidem tua tot miracula praestant; O verbi, o dextrae dulcia regna tuae! Non praestant? neque te post tot miracula credunt? Mirac'lum qui non credidit, ipse fuit.[49]

_But though He had done so many miracles before them, yet they believed not on Him._

For all Thy signs they still refuse Thee, Lord; Those signs, blest symbols of Thy reign and word. Such signs, and not believe? Sure, who did thus Made unbelief itself miraculous. CL.

XXXII.

_Ad S. Andream piscatorem._ Marc. i. 16.

Quippe potes pulchre captare et fallere pisces; Centum illic discis lubricus ire dolis. Heus, bone piscator! tendit sua retia Christus: Artem inverte, et jam tu quoque disce capi.

_To S. Andrew, fisherman._

How cleverly the fishes he beguiles! He learns to use a hundred cunning wiles. Ho, thou good Fisher: Christ casts out His net; Now haste thou to be caught; for thee 'tis set. G.

XXXIII.

_Ego sum vox, &c._ Joan. i. 23.

Vox ego sum, dicis: tu vox es, sancte Joannes? Si vox es, genitor cur tibi mutus erat? Ista tui fuerant quam mira silentia patris! Vocem non habuit tunc quoque cum genuit.

_I am the voice._

'I am the voice,' thou sayest. Thou holy John, If voice thou art, why was thy father dumb? O silence strange! which as I muse upon, I see thy voice from God, not man, did come. G.

XXXIV.

_Vincula sponte decidunt._ Act. xii. 7.

Qui ferro Petrum cumulas, durissime custos, A ferro disces mollior esse tuo. Ecce fluit, nodisque suis evolvitur ultro: I, fatue, et vinc'lis vincula pone tuis.

_The chains spontaneously fall off._

Who loadest him with chains, thou jailer stern, To be more kind e'en from those chains shalt learn. Lo, they dissolve, and their own knots untie. Go, fool, and chains with chains to fetter try. G.

XXXV.

IN DIEM OMNIUM SANCTORUM.

_Ne laedite terrain, neque mare, neque arbores, quousque obsignaverimus servos Dei nostri in frontibus suis._ Rev. vii. 3.

Nusquam immitis agat ventus sua murmura, nusquam Sylva tremat, crispis sollicitata comis. Aequa Thetis placide allabens ferat oscula Terrae; Terra suos Thetidi pandat amica sinus: Undique pax effusa piis volet aurea pennis, Frons bona dum signo est quaeque notata suo. Ah, quid in hoc opus est signis aliunde petendis? Frons bona sat lacrymis quaeque notata suis.

_On All-Saints' Day._

Let wind with murmurs harsh nowhere be heard; Nowhere wood tremble, its curl'd tresses stirr'd. Calm-flowing Sea greet Earth with kisses bland, Earth unto Sea its bosom kind expand. Let holy Peace on golden pinions steal, Till each blest brow is mark'd with its own seal. Ah, why elsewhere for this, need signs be sought? To each blest brow tears seal enough have brought. R. WI.

XXXVI.

_In die Conjurationis sulphureae._