XIX.

In descensum Spiritus Sancti. Act. ii. 1-4.
Quae vehit auratos nubes dulcissima nimbos?
Quis mitem pluviam lucidus imber agit?
Agnosco, nostros haec nubes abstulit ignes:

Haec nubes in nos jam redit igne pari.
O nubem gratam et memorem, quae noluit ultra
Tam saeve de se nos potuisse queri!

O bene; namque alio non posset rore rependi,
Coelo exhalatum quod modo terra dedit.

On the descent of the Holy Spirit.

What sweetest cloud comes wafting golden shower? What gentle raindrops bring their shining dower? The cloud which stole our flame, our heart's desire, This very cloud returns with equal fire.

O kindly-mindful cloud, which could not brook That we should mourn thee with so sad a look! 'Tis well; no other dew had countervail'd

That which from earth to heaven was late exhal'd.

R. WI.

XX.
Act. x. 39.

Quis malus appendit de mortis stipite vitam?
O malus agricola, hoc inseruisse fuit?

Immo, quis appendit vitae hac ex arbore mortem?
O bonus Agricola, hoc inseruisse fuit.

What wicked one affix'd Life to Death's tree?

O wretched gard'ner, call'st thou this engrafting?
Nay, tell me who aflix'd Death to Life's tree?
O noble Gardner, this I call engrafting.

G.

XXI.

I go sum Ostium. Joan. x. 9.

Jamque pates, cordisque seram gravis hasta reclusit,
Et clavi claves undique te reserant.

Ah, vereor, sibi ne manus impia clauserit illas,
Quae coeli has ausa est sic aperire fores.

I am the Doore.

And now th' art set wide ope; the speare's sad art,
Lo, hath unlockt Thee at the very heart.

He to himselfe I feare the worst

And his owne hope,

Hath shut these doores of heaven, that durst

Thus set them ope.

CR.

ANOTHER VERSION.

Now Thou art open wide; the barrier dear
Of Thy great heart unclos'd by cruel spear;
And nails as keys unlock Thee everywhere.

Ah, he whose wicked hand thus forc'd the gate

Of heaven, perhaps at heaven's shut door will wait
One day, with outer darkness for his fate.

G.

XXII.

In spinas demtas a Christi capite cruentatas. Accipe, an ignoscis? de te sata germina, miles.

Quam segeti est messis discolor illa suae! O quae tam duro gleba est tam grata colono? Inserit hic spinas: reddit et illa rosas.

Upon the thornes taken downe from our Lord's head bloody. Knowst thou this, souldier? 'tis a much-chang'd plant,

which yet

Thyselfe didst set;

'Tis chang'd indeed : did Autumn e're such beauties bring To shame his Spring?

O, who so hard an husbandman could ever find

A soyle so kind?

Is not the soile a kind one, thinke ye, that returnes

Take, soldier-know'st them not ?-thy planted germs; A harvest how unlike to its seed-corn!

What soil yields husbandman such kindly terms?

The rose he gathers, where he planted thorn. G.

XXIII.

Joan. iii. 1-21.

Nox erat, et Christum, Doctor male docte, petebas
In Christo tenebras depositure tuas.

He a tem mult, dum te bonus irrigat ore.

Alper are ins du it in alta vias,
S1 venit, et primo pandit se flore divi,

Luht et in dubus aureus horror aquis.

S4 ntur, selalle, et alue tamen, ô bone, nesvis.
Solontur, teen nix tamen est, et adhuc

Non coeli, illa fuit, nox fuit illa tua.

Nicodemus.

I was night, and, Teacher all untaught, Thy darkness thou to Christ hast brought ; Bat while attent. He speaks to thee Benignant words, that thou mayst see, Leading higher still and higher,

As thy yearnings do aspire,

Gon ling thee, by sure grace given,

Through secret paths that reach to heaven:

Lo, the Sun on thee is risen,

Busting from his cloudy prison,

Showing Hum, the Life, the Way,
Flushing with first bloom of day,

Quivering with a golden light

Such as on wav'ring seas gleams bright.
The Sun is risen; yet darkness lies,
Good Nicodemus, on thine eyes;
But the night's thine own; for, lo,

All heav'n above doth lustrous glow.

G.