bound w V. Thy hand to give Thou canst not lift; motality, It gives though bound; though bound 'tis free. but for because ummortal VI. But, O Thy side! Thy deep-digg'd side! Nor ever was the Pharian tide Half so fruitful, half so flowing. VII. No hair so small, but pays his river Something to the general flood. VIII. But while I speak, whither are run All the rivers named before? I counted wrong: there is but one; mage is not liturgical but natural and has IX. Rain-swol❜n rivers may rise proud, profounder meanng Classical puls up umages alom. to this point and tum fui to give an abstracta meaning to Them all. X. This Thy blood's deluge (a dire chance, A deluge lest we should be drown'd. Ne'er wast Thou in a sense so sadly true, -:0: Upon The Crown of Thorns taken down Know'st thou this, Soldier ? 'tis a much changed plant, which yet Thyself didst set, 'Tis changed indeed; did Autumn e'er such beauties bring with fun To shame his Spring?* Oh! who so hard a husbandman could ever find A soil so kind? Is not the soil a kind one (think ye) that returns Roses for thorns? лон Стесту love of Christ) * Lines third and fourth are not given in the ed. of 1652.-Ed. Upon The Body of Our Blessed Lord, They have left Thee naked, Lord; O that they had! blood as a garment. -:0: The hymn of St. Thomas, IN ADORATION OF THE BLESSED SACRAMENT. With all the powers my poor heart hath Of humble love and loyal faith, . Thus low (my hidden life !) I bow to Thee, Whom too much love hath bow'd more low for me. Down, down, proud Sense! discourses die! Keep close, my soul's inquiring eye! Nor touch nor taste must look for more, But each sit still in his own door. Your ports are all superfluous here, Save that which lets in Faith, the ear. Faith is my skill; Faith can believe As fast as Love new laws can give. a dressing hi senses to newes пилый Faith is my force: Faith strength affords And words more sure, more sweet than they, O let Thy wretch find that relief And less to lean on: because then Though hid as God, wounds writ Thee man; And that too was Thyself which Thee did cover, Sweet, consider then, that I, Though allowed nor hand nor eye Help, Lord, my faith, my hope increase, And fill my portion in Thy peace: Give love for life; nor let my days Grow, but in new powers to Thy name and praise. O dear memorial of that Death Which lives still, and allows us breath! Rich, royal food! Bountiful bread! The same leave both to eat and live. O soft, self-wounding Pelican! Whose breast weeps balm for wounded man: To a bleeding heart that gasps for blood. That blood, whose least drops sovereign be Come Love! come Lord! and that long day |