Chapter 64
Hath only Anger an omnipotence In eloquence?
Within the lips of Love and Joy doth dwell No miracle?
Why else had Balaam's a.s.se 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 a.s.s 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 a.s.s 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 inc.u.mbit 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
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 G.o.d 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.