Deus sub utero Virginis. Luc. i. 31.
Ecce tuus, Natura, pater; pater hic tuus hic est:
Ille, uterus matris quem tenet, ille pater.
Pellibus exiguis arctatur Filius ingens,
Quem tu non totum, crede, nec ipsa capis.
Quanta uteri, Regina, tui reverentia tecum est,
Dum jacet hic coelo sub breviore Deus!
Conscia divino gliscunt praecordia motu,
Nec vehit aethereos sanctior aura polos.
Quam bene sub tecto tibi concipiuntur eodem
Vota, et, vota cui concipienda, Deus!
Quod nubes alia, et tanti super atria coeli
Quaerunt, invenient hoc tua vota domi.
O felix anima haec, quae tam sua gaudia tangit!
Sub conclave suo cui suus ignis adest.
Corpus amet, licet, illa suum, neque sidera malit:
Quod vinc'lum est aliis, hoc habet illa domum.
Sola jaces, neque sola; toro quocunque recumbis,
Illo estis positi tuque tuusque toro.
Immo ubi casta tuo posita es cum conjuge conjunx;
Quod mirum magis est, es tuus ipsa torus.
God in the Virgin's womb.
Thy Father, Nature, here thy Father see:
Whom womb of mother holds, thy Father He.
Scant teguments the mighty Son enchain,
Whom thou thyself not wholly dost contain.
What reverence, Queen, to thine own womb is given,
While God lies here beneath a lesser heaven!
With sacred motion swells her conscious breast;
Nor are the poles upborne by airs more blest.
'Neath the same roof are well conceiv'd by thee
Vows, and the God to whom vows offer'd be.
What other prayers o'er clouds and sky's vast bound
Seek, by thy prayers this will at home be found.
Blest soul, so nigh to thy supreme desire,
To which 'neath its own shrine dwells its own fire.
She may her body love, nor heaven prefer:
What chains down others is a home to her.
Lone, yet not lone, where'er thou dost recline;
On that same couch are laid both thou and thine.
Nay, when with thy chaste spouse, chaste wife thou'rt laid—
More strange, thyself thine own blest couch art made. R. Wi.
XXXVIII.
Ad Judaeos mactatores Stephani. Act. vii. 59.
Frustra illum increpitant, frustra vaga saxa: nec illi
Grandinis, heu, saevae! dura procella nocet.
Ista potest tolerare, potest nescire; sed illi,
Quae sunt in vestro pectore, saxa nocent.
To the Jews, murderers of St. Stephen.
Vainly ye cast stones, Jews; they give no shock:
Shower as the hail-storm, it is all in vain.
These he shall bear, and heed not: 'tis the rock
Of your obdurate hearts that gives him pain. G.