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 shipwreck this,

And a cure by conflict wrought!

Strange that woe should thus win bliss,

From disaster life be brought!

V.

G.

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 God 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.

EPIGRAMMATA BACBA.

VL

Quisquis perdiderit animam ruan men causa ingeniet eum,

I, vita, i, perdam: mihi more via, Chéck, rezera veti
Mors tua vita mea est; more tibi vita merr
Aut ego te abscondam. Christi, ma via, mplého)
Non adeo procl est tertina ile in

Whosoever will love His 14 for My enke xball (nd it
Away, my le: Lori Cena,

I have Thy dat:

My He's Thy domb, and Thy
dai gia se

But cone, my the 12 de
the in Ha van.

The third day bewz a wa

[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 wilderèd

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.

VIII.

Quinque panes ad quinque hominum millia. Joan. vi. 9. En mensae faciles, redivivaque vulnera coenae, Quaeque indefessa provocat ora dape! Aucta Ceres stupet arcana se crescere messe. Denique quid restat? Pascitur ipse cibus. On the miracle of multiplyed loaves. See here an easie feast that knows no wound,

That under Hunger's teeth will needs be found;

A subtle harvest of unbounded bread:

What would ye more? Here Food itselfe is fold, Cu,

ANOTHER VERSION.

Eas'ly-furnish'd table!

And feast increas'd by eating:

Still the mouth entreating,

The bread itself, unable

To tell whence it flows,

Finds it most Buy Pow

Finds itself guest—no fable !

Whence is the mystic come !

Atinge ww ka 722

Ille niger sacris exit, quan ata 21.