_Aedificatis sepulchra Prophetarum._ Matt. xxiii. 29.

Sanctorum in tumulis quid vult labor ille colendis?

Sanctorum mortem non sinit ille mori.

Vane, Prophetarum quot ponis saxa sepulchris, Tot testes lapidum, queis periere, facis.

_Ye build the sepulchres of the Prophets._

Thou trim'st a Prophet's tombe, and dost bequeath The life thou took'st from him unto his death.

Vain man! the stones that on his tombe doe lye Keepe but the score[77] of them that made him dye. CR.

ANOTHER VERSION.

What means this labour on the tombs of saints, Causing their holy memory be cherish'd?

Vain men! each stone which consecrates their plaints Doth tell us of the stones by which they perish'd. G.

CXLI.

_In manum aridam qua Christo mota est miseratio._ Marc. iii. 3-5.

Prende, miser, Christum; et c.u.m Christo prende salutem: At manca est, dices, dextera: prende tamen.

Ipsum hoc, in Christum, ma.n.u.s est: hoc prendere Christum est, Qua Christum prendas, non habuisse manum.

_The man with the withered hand, who excited Christ's compa.s.sion._

Take hold of Christ, O wretched one, And with Christ take salvation.

But thy right hand, thou say'st, is dead; Yet take thee hold: His word is said.

Take hold of Christ e'en without hand; Then safe in Christ, and well, thou'lt stand: Take hold of Christ in simple faith; This will be hand to thee, He saith. G.

CXLII.

_Ad D. Lucam medic.u.m._ Coloss. iv. 14.

Nulla mihi, Luca, de te medicamina posco, Ipse licet medicus sis, licet aeger ego: Quippe ego in exemplum fidei dum te mihi pono, Tu, medice, ipse mihi es tu medicina mea.

??d?? ???, ?????, pa?? s?? ?? f??a??? a?t?, ??? s? d' ?at??? ???, ??? ?? ??? ??se???.

???' ?? ?s? pa??de??a p??e?? ?? p?st???, a?t??, ??t?? ?at??? ??? ?' ?ss? ??est????.

_Luke the beloved physician._

No medicine of thee, O Luke, I seek, Though thou art a physician, and I sick: Th' example of thy faith before my eyen, To me, physician, is the medicine. B.

ANOTHER VERSION.

_To St. Luke as a physician._

No medicine will I crave, Saint Luke, of thee, Though I be sick, though thou physician be: Pattern of faith, I plant thee in my soul, And thou thyself the medicine makest me whole. A.

CXLIII.

_Hydropicus sanatus, Christum jam sitiens._ Luc. xiv. 4.

Pellitur inde sitis, sed et hinc sitis altera surgit; Hinc sit.i.t ille magis, quo sit.i.t inde minus.

Felix o, et mortem poterit qui temnere morbus; Cui vitae ex ipso fonte sit.i.tur aqua.

_The dropsical man thirsting now for Christ._

Thy dropsy's quench'd, but other thirst now rises, Which craves the more, the less the former thirsts.

O happy malady, which death despises: Thirst for the stream which from life's fountain bursts. G.

CXLIV.

_In coetum coelestem omnium Sanctorum._

Felices animae, quas coelo debita virtus Jam potuit vestris inseruisse polis: Hoc dedit egregii non parcus sanguinis usus, Spesque per obstantes expatiata vias.

O ver, o longae semper seges aurea lucis; Nocte nec alterna dimidiata dies; O quae palma manu ridet, quae fronte corona; O nix virgineae non temeranda togae; Pacis inocciduae vos illic ora videtis; Vos Agni dulcis lumina; vos--quid ago?

_To the a.s.sembly 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, n.o.ble 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.