bound

w

V.

Thy hand to give Thou canst not lift;
Yet wilt Thy hand still giving be.
It gives, but O itself's the gift :

motality, It gives though bound; though bound 'tis free.

but for because

ummortal

VI.

But, O Thy side! Thy deep-digg'd side!
That hath a double Nilus going:

Nor ever was the Pharian tide

Half so fruitful, half so flowing.

VII.

No hair so small, but pays his river
To this Red Sea of Thy blood;
Their little channels can deliver

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;
But O that one is one all o'er.

mage is not liturgical but natural and

has

IX.

Rain-swol❜n rivers may rise proud,
Bent all to drown and overflow;
But when indeed all's overflow'd,
They themselves are drowned too.

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,
Dear Lord, to Thee) to us is found
A deluge of deliverance;

A deluge lest we should be drown'd.

Ne'er wast Thou in a sense so sadly true,
The well of living waters, Lord, till now.

-:0:

Upon The Crown of Thorns taken down
from the bead of Our Blessed Lord,
all Bloody.

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,
Naked and Bloody.

They have left Thee naked, Lord; O that they had!
This garment too I would they had denied.
Thee with Thyself they have too richly clad;
Opening the purple wardrobe in Thy side.
O never could there be garment too good
For Thee to wear, but this of Thine own blood.

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
To keep pace with those pow'rful words.

And words more sure, more sweet than they,
Love could not think, Truth could not say.

O let Thy wretch find that relief
Thou didst afford the faithful thief.
Plead for me, Love! allege and show
That Faith has farther here to go,

And less to lean on: because then

Though hid as God, wounds writ Thee man;
Thomas might touch, none but might see
At least the suffering side of Thee;

And that too was Thyself which Thee did cover,
But here ev'n that's hid too which hides the other.

Sweet, consider then, that I,

Though allowed nor hand nor eye
To reach at Thy loved face; nor can
Taste Thee God, or touch Thee man,
Both yet believe, and witness Thee
My Lord too, and my God, as loud as he.

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!
Whose use denies us to the dead;
Whose vital gust alone can give

The same leave both to eat and live.
Live ever, bread of loves, and be
My life, my soul, my surer self to me.

O soft, self-wounding Pelican!

Whose breast weeps balm for wounded man:
Ah, this way bend Thy benign flood.

To a bleeding heart that gasps for blood.

That blood, whose least drops sovereign be
To wash my worlds of sins from me.

Come Love! come Lord! and that long day
For which I languish, come away.
When this dry soul those eyes shall see,
And drink the unseal'd source of Thee:
When Glory's sun, Faith's shades shall chase,
And for Thy veil give me Thy face. Amen.