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 Pa.s.sion._

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 cl.u.s.ter'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 Ma.s.sic 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._

Quin et tu quoque busta tui Phnicis adora; Tu quoque fer tristes, mens mea, delicias.

Si nec aromata sunt, nec quod tibi fragrat amomum; Qualis Magdalina est messis odora manu.

Est quod aromatibus praestat, quod praestat amomo: Haec tibi mollicula, haec gemmea lacrymula.

Et lacryma est aliquid: neque frustra Magdala flevit: Sentiit haec, lacrymas non nihil esse suas.

His illa, et tunc c.u.m Domini caput iret amomo, Invidiam capitis fecerat esse pedes.

Nunc quoque c.u.m sinus huic tanto sub aromate sudet, Plus capit ex oculis, quo litet, illa suis.

Christe, decent lacrymae: decet isto rore rigari Vitae hoc aeternum mane tuumque diem.

_On the day of our Lord's resurrection, the Magdalene bearing spices cometh to the sepulchre._ Marc. xvi. 1; Luc. xxiv. 1.

Come thou too, thou; kneel by thy Phnix' tomb; Bring thy poor offerings too, my soul, and come.

With thee no herbs and fragrant spice are seen-- Such odorous tribute gave the Magdalene; But these--no herbs nor spices equal them-- These little liquid drops, each tear a gem.

One tear is much: thine did not fall in vain, Sweet Magdalene; thou knewest the tears were gain.

With these--her Lord's head in amomum laid-- The humble feet the head's despair she made.

Now, while her breast moist with such fragrance lies, She in a strife draws sweeter from her eyes.

Lord Christ, these tears are well: well fits it too Life's everlasting morn drip with such dew. A.

CLXXII.

_In cicatrices Domini adhuc superst.i.tes._ Luc. xxiv. 31.

Arma vides; arcus, pharetramque levesque sagittas, Et quocunque fuit nomine miles Amor.

His fuit usus Amor: sed et haec fuit ipse; suumque Et jaculum, et jaculis ipse pharetra suis.

Nunc splendent tantum, et deterso pulvere belli E memori pendent nomina magna tholo.

Tempus erit tamen, haec irae quando arma pharetramque, Et sobolem pharetrae spicula tradet Amor.

Heu, qua tunc anima, quo stabit conscia vultu, Quum scelus agnoscet dextera quaeque suum?

Improbe, quae dederis, cernes ibi vulnera, miles, Qua tibi cunque tuus luserit arte furor.

Seu digito suadente tuo mala laurus inibat Temporibus; sacrum seu bibit hasta latus: Sive tuo clavi saevum rubuere sub ictu; Seu puduit jussis ire flagella tuis.

Improbe, quae dederis, cernes ibi vulnera, miles: Quod dederis vulnus, cernere, vulnus erit.

Plaga sui vindex clavosque rependet et hastam: Quoque rependet, erit clavus et hasta sibi.

Quis tam terribiles, tam justas moverit iras?

Vulnera pugnabunt, Christe, vel ipsa tibi.

_On the scars of the Lord still remaining._

Arms see--bows, quiver, arrows flying far, And every style in which Love went to war.

These arms Love used--nay, Himself was: His own Dart and darts' quiver was Himself alone.

Now they but shine, and, dusty battle ended, In treasur'd glory are on high suspended.

Time comes when unto Wrath these arms, both quiver And quiver's offspring, darts, Love will deliver.

Ah, with what thoughts, what countenance wilt thou stand When its own guilt comes home to each right hand?

Wretch, thou wilt see the wounds which thou hast made, And with what fatal skill thy fury play'd: Whether with b.l.o.o.d.y wreath thy fingers plied His temples, or thy spear drank His dear side; Or 'neath thy blow nails turned a cruel red, Or the scourge blush'd as at thy call it sped.

Wretch, there the wounds thou gavest thou shalt see: To see the wound thou gav'st a wound shall be.

Stroke self-avenging follows nails and spear: Its nail and spear of recompense are here.

Such awful righteous wrath who would excite?

Thy very wounds, O Christ, for Thee will fight. R. WI.

CLXXIII.

_Pacem meam do vobis._ Joan. xiv. 27.

Bella vocant: arma, o socii, nostra arma paremus Atque enses: nostros scilicet, ah, jugulos.

Cur ego bella paro, c.u.m Christus det mihi pacem?

Quod Christus pacem dat mihi, bella paro.

Ille dedit, nam quis potuit dare certior autor?

Ille dedit pacem: sed dedit ille suam.

_My peace I give unto you._

War calls: O friends, our arms let us prepare, And swords; forsooth, our throats let us lay bare.

Why war prepare, if Christ His peace afford?

Because Christ gives me peace, I take the sword.

He gave--what surer giver can be shown?

He gave the peace, but then He gave His own. R. WI.

CLXXIV.

_In D. Paulum illuminatum simul et excaecatum._ Act. ix. 8, 9.

Quae, Christe, ambigua haec bifidi tibi gloria teli est, Quod simul huic oculos abstulit atque dedit?

Sancta dies animi, hac oculorum in nocte, latebat; Te ut possit Paulus cernere, caecus erat.

_Paul's conversion and blindness._

Why, Lord, this twofold glory of Thy ray, Giving him sight whose sight it takes away?

Paul in that night G.o.d's inner light shall find: That he may see The Christ his eyes are blind. CL.