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To Pontius washing his hands.

Thy hands are washt; but, O, the water's spilt
That labour'd to have washt thy guilt:

The flood, if any can, that can suffice,

Must have its fountaine in thine eyes.

CR.

ANOTHER VERSION.

The unjust judge washt his hands at the time:
Ah, but no water can wash out thy crime.

No water washt it out: if any will,

'Tis that which must from thy owne eyes distil. B.

CXVIII.

In piscem dotatum. Matt. xvii. 27.

Tu piscem si, Christe, velis, venit ecce, suumque Fert pretium tanti est vel periisse tibi. Christe, foro tibi non opus est; addicere nummos ipsum se tibi piscis emet.

Non opus est

The stater-giving fish.

A fish Thou wishest, Lord;
And without e'er a word,
Behold, it swims to Thee,
Fetching its own cost, free.
Thou needest not to go

In markets to and fro;

Nor need'st Thou price to bring

The fish owns Thee its king.

G.

E.

Tu contra nun lum lux

At tu, me miserum

CXIX.

biem. Joan. xvi. 33.

es neus, optime Jesu?

dux meus ipse jaces.

Si tu, dux meus, ipse jacks, spes ulla salutis?
Immo, ni jateas tu, mihi nulla salus.

I have overcome the world.

Jesus, my Captain, give me victories!
Alas, Jesus Himself, my Captain, dies.

And if my Captain fall, what hope have I?
No hope at all, unless my Captain die.

ANOTHER VERSION.

Art Thou my Chief, best Lord, against the foe?
But Thou, my Chief, me wretched! liest low.
If Thou, my Chief, liest low, what help for me?
Nay, if Thou liest not low, no help can be.

CXX.

In ascensionem Dominicam. Act. i. 10.

Vadit, io, per aperta sui penetralia coeli :
It coelo, et coelum fundit ab ore novum.
Spargitur ante pedes, et toto sidere pronus
Jam propius solis sol bibit ora sui.
At fratri debere negans sua lumina Phoebe,
Aurea de Phoebo jam meliore redit.

Ios, de te victo, tu das, Pater, ipse triumphos :
Unde triumphares, quis satis alter erat?

B.

A.

!

On the ascension of our Lord.

Through open'd depths of His own heaven He soars,
And from His face in heaven a new heaven pours.
Scatter'd before Him down the welkin sinks
The sun, and its own sun's near glory drinks.
Moon unto sun for light no more beholden,
Now from more lustrous sun returns all golden.
These triumphs o'er Thyself Thou grantest, Lord;
Triumphs no other could suffice to 'accord.

CXXI.

In descensum Spiritus Sancti. Act. ii.

Jam coeli circum tonuit fragor: arma minasque
Turbida cum flammis mista ferebat hiems.
Exclamat Judaeus atrox: Venit ecce nefandis,
Ecce venit meriti fulminis ira memor.
Verum ubi composito sedit fax blandior astro,

R. WI.

Flammaque non laesas lambit amica comas;
Judaeis, fulmen quia falsum apparuit esse,
Hoc ipso verum nomine fulmen erat.

Οὐρανῶ ἐκτύπησε βήμις τόλεμον καὶ ἀπεινὰς
Hye apo; cin zivji speşdariy.
Αύει Ινλανς μιαρα στυγενών τὰ κάνηνα
"Estace is byê; ri zrózu cleaning.
Alla qui in zútu jesu ácıy

διαγων, και άιάτως δεῖχε φίλων τι κάμινο,
Eztam Bel in yás zang viz ha õuts,
Ka irem buíru rúte zegams in.

The descent of the Holy Spirit.

Booms the thunder through the sky,

Flash the lightnings, threats the storm;

Cries the Jew with vengeful eye:

See SIN doom'd in fitting form!

But, lo, the lightning, paled to light
Mild and calm as ev'ning's star,
Binds their brows with nimbus bright,

Playing softly i' their hair.

To the Jews it is not lightning,

Yet the more the name's enlightening.1

G.

CXXII.

Sic dilexit mundum Deus, ut Filium morti traderet. Joan. iii. 16.

Ah nimis est, illum nostrae vel tradere vitae :

Guttula quod faceret, cur facit oceanus? Unde et luxuriare potest, habet hinc mea vita: Ample et magnifice mors habet unde mori.

God so loved the world, that He gave His only-begotten Son....

Ah, 'tis too much to give Him for our sake:

A drop might serve, why then an ocean take?
Here may my life expatiate gloriously—
Amply, magnificently, Death may die.

1 Or To the Jews it is not fire,

R. WI.

Yet the name best tells Heav'n's ire. G.

CXXIII.

Juga boum emi. Luc. xiv. 19.

Ad coenam voco te, domini quod jussa volebant;
Tu mihi, nescio quos, dicis, inepte, boves.
Imo vale, nobis nec digne nec utilis hospes ;
Coena tuos, credo, malit habere boves.

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D. Paulum, verbo sanantem claudum, pro Mercurio Lystres

adorant. Act. xiv. 8-18.

Quis Tagus hic, quae Pactoli nova volvitur unda? Non hominis vox est haec: Deus ille, Deus.

Salve, mortales nimium dignate penates:

Digna Deo soboles, digna tonante Deo.

O salve, quid enim, alme, tuos latuisse volebas?
Te it certe vel tua lingua Deum.

Landem bane haud miror: merit facundus haberi,

Qui clando prompton ma-it habere poles.

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