But thou, O dust profane, and of each air
The plaything doom'd, with what face wilt thou bear
The Judgment-throne? how huge a stormy cloud
Will lower upon thee! how wilt thou be bow'd
With iron nod, the prey of frowning Face,
By thunder to be driven far off, apace,
From light of sacred Countenance! afar
From golden regions, where the righteous are,
Sooth'd in pure Peace's lap eterne, whose wing
Towers high above them, overshadowing;
While happy showers of nectar sweet imbue
Their lips, as with an everlasting dew.
The wicked so His watchful ire will learn,
And cower 'neath God's avenging countenance stern;
The righteous so His love divine will feel
With gentle lapse into their bosom steal. R. Wi.
CHRISTE, VENI.
Ergo veni; quicunque ferant tua signa timores,
Quae nos cunque vocant tristia, Christe, veni.
Christe, veni; suus avulsum rapiat labor axem,
Nec sinat implicitas ire redire vias;
Mutuus attonito titubet sub foedere mundus,
Nec natura vagum dissona volvat opus.
Christe, veni; roseos ultra remeare per ortus
Nolit, et ambiguos Sol trahat aeger equos.
Christe, veni; ipsa suas patiatur Cynthia noctes,
Plus quam Thessalico tincta tremore genas;
Astrorum mala caesaries per inane dolendum
Gaudeat, horribili flore repexa caput;
Sole sub invito subitae vis improba noctis
Corripiat solitam, non sua jura, diem;
Importuna dies, nec Eoi conscia pacti,
Per desolatae murmura noctis eat.
Christe, veni; tonet Oceanus pater, et sua nolit
Claustra vagi montes sub nova sceptra meent.
Christe, veni; quodcunque audet metus, audeat ultra
Fata id agant, quod agant; tu modo, Christe, veni.
Christe, veni; quacunque venis mercede malorum.
Quanti hoc constiterit cunque venire, veni.
Teque tuosque oculos tanti est potuisse videre!
O tanti est te vel sic potuisse frui!
Quicquid id est, veniat. Tu modo, Christe, veni.
TRANSLATION.
EVEN SO: COME, LORD JESUS.
O come; whatever fears Thy standards carry,
Or sorrows summon us, Lord, do not tarry.
Come, Lord; though labouring heaven whirl from its place,
And its perplexèd paths no more can trace;
Though sympathising earth astonied reel,
And nature jarrèd cease its round to wheel.
Come, Lord; though sun refuse with rosy beam
To rise, and sickly drives a doubtful team.
Come, Lord; though moon look more aghast at night
Than when her cheeks with panic fear are white;
Though ominous comets through the dolorous air
Hurtle, and round their brow dread fire-wreaths wear;
Though spite of struggling sun Night's sudden sway
Impious and lawless seize the accustom'd day;
Mistimèd Day, mindless of eastern glow,
Through moanings of forsaken Night should go.
Come, Lord; though father Ocean roars and lowers,
That his mov'd mountain-bars own other powers.
Come, Lord; whate'er Fear dares, e'en let it dare;
Let Fates do what they will, be Thou but there.
Come, Lord; with whate'er recompense of ill,
Whate'er Thy coming cost, O come, Lord, still.
Thee and Thine eyes, O what 'twill be to see!
Thee to enjoy e'en so, what will that be!
Let come what will, do Thou, Lord, only come. R. Wi.
CIRCUMCISIO.
Ah ferus, ah culter, qui tam bona lilia primus
In tam crudeles jussit abire rosas;
Virgineum hoc qui primus ebur violavit ab ostro,
Inque sui instituit muricis ingenium.
Scilicet hinc olim quicunque cucurrerit amnis,
Ex hoc purpurei germine fontis erit.
Scilicet hunc mortis primum puer accipit unguem,
Injiciunt hodie fata, furorque manus.
Ecce illi sanguis fundi jam coepit; et ecce
Qui fundi possit, vix bene sanguis erat;
Excitat e dolio vix dum bene musta recenti,
Atque rudes furias in nova membra vocat.
Improbus, ut nimias jam nunc accingitur iras,
Armaque non molli sollicitanda manu;
Improbus, ut teneras audet jam ludere mortes,
Et vitae ad modulum, quid puerile mori;
Improbus, ut tragici impatiens praeludia fati
Ornat, et in socco jam negat ire suo:
Scilicet his pedibus manus haec meditata cothurnos?
Haec cum blanditiis mens meditata minas?
Haec tam dura brevem decuere crepundia dextram?
Dextra giganteis haec satis apta genis?
Sic cunis miscere cruces? cumque ubere matris
Commisisse neces et scelus et furias?
Quo ridet patri, hoc tacite quoque respicit hastam,
Quoque oculo matrem mulcet, in arma redit.
Dii superi, furit his oculis! hoc asper in ore est!
Dat Marti vultus, quos sibi mallet Amor.
Deliciae irarum! torvi, tenera agmina, risus!
Blande furor! terror dulcis! amande metus!
Praecocis in paenas pueri lascivia tristis!
Cruda rudimenta! et torva tyrocinia!
Jam parcum breviusque brevi pro corpore vulnus,
Proque brevi brevior vulnere sanguis eat:
Olim, cum nervi vitaeque ferocior haustus
Materiam morti luxuriemque dabunt;
Olim maturos ultro conabitur imbres;
Robustum audebit tunc solidumque mori.
Ergo illi, nisi qui in saevos concreverit usus,
Nec nisi quem possit fundere, sanguis erit?
Euge, puer trux! euge tamen mitissime rerum!
Quique tibi tantum trux potes esse, puer?
Euge tibi trux! euge mihi mitissime rerum!
Euge Leo mitis! trux sed et Agne tamen!
Macte, puer, macte hoc tam durae laudis honore!
Macte, o paenarum hac indole et ingenio!
Ah ferus, ah culter, sub quo, tam docte dolorum,
In tristem properas sic, puer, ire virum.
Ah ferus, ah culter, sub quo, puer auree, crescis,
Mortis proficiens hac quasi sub ferula.
TRANSLATION.
THE CIRCUMCISION OF CHRIST.