EPIGRAMMATA SACRA.

Decoration K

Decoration I

Pharisaeus et Publicanus.Luc. xviii. 14-19.

En duo templum adeunt, diversis mentibus ambo.Ille procul trepido lumine signat humum:It gravis hic, et in alta ferox penetralia tendit.Plus habet hic templi; plus habet ille Dei.Ἄνδρες, ἰδοὺ, ἑτέροισι νόοις, δύω ἱρὸν ἐσῆλθον.Τηλόθεν ὀῤῥωδεῖ κεῖνος ὁ φρικαλέος·Ἀλλ' ὁ μὲν ὡς σοβαρὸς νηοῦ μυχὸν ἐγγὺς ἱκάνει·Πλεῖον ὁ μὲν νηοῦ, πλεῖον ὁ δ' εἶχε Θεοῦ.

En duo templum adeunt, diversis mentibus ambo.Ille procul trepido lumine signat humum:It gravis hic, et in alta ferox penetralia tendit.Plus habet hic templi; plus habet ille Dei.

Ἄνδρες, ἰδοὺ, ἑτέροισι νόοις, δύω ἱρὸν ἐσῆλθον.Τηλόθεν ὀῤῥωδεῖ κεῖνος ὁ φρικαλέος·Ἀλλ' ὁ μὲν ὡς σοβαρὸς νηοῦ μυχὸν ἐγγὺς ἱκάνει·Πλεῖον ὁ μὲν νηοῦ, πλεῖον ὁ δ' εἶχε Θεοῦ.

Two went up into the Temple to pray.

Two went to pray! O, rather say,One went to brag, th' other to pray.One stands up close, and treads on high,Where th' other dares not send his eye.One neerer to God's altar trod;The other to the altar's God.Cr.

ANOTHER VERSION.

Two men unto the Temple went to pray.That, with a downcast look, stood far away;This, near the altar, himself highly bore:This of the Temple, that of God hath more.B.

In asinum Christi vectorem.Matt. xxi. 7.

Ille[43]suum didicit quondam objurgare magistrum:Et quid ni discas tu celebrare tuum?Mirum non minus est, te jam potuisse tacere,Illum quam fuerat tum potuisse loqui.

Upon the asse that bore our Saviour.

Hath only Anger an omnipotenceIn eloquence?Within the lips of Love and Joy doth dwellNo miracle?Why else had Balaam's asse a tongue to chideHis master's pride,And thou, heaven-burthen'd beast, hast ne're a wordTo praise thy Lord?That he should find a tongue and vocal thunderWas a great wonder;But O, methinkes, 'tis a farre greater oneThat thou find'st none.Cr.

MORE CLOSELY.

The ass of old had power to chide its wilful lord;And hast not thou the power to speak one praiseful word?Not less a marvel, sure, this silence is in theeThan that the ass of old to speak had liberty.G.

Dominus apud suos vilis.Luc. iv. 28-29.

En consanguinei! patriis en exul in orisChristus! et haud alibi tam peregrinus erat.Qui socio demum pendebat sanguine latro,O consanguineus quam fuit ille magis!

The Lord 'despised and rejected' by His own people.

See, O my kinsmen, what strange thing is this!Christ in's own country a great stranger is.The thief which bled upon the Cross with TheeWas more ally'd in consanguinity.[44]B.

Ad Bethesdae piscinam positus.Joan. v. 1-16.

Quis novus hic refugis incumbit Tantalus undis,Quem fallit toties tam fugitiva salus?Unde hoc naufragium felix medicaeque procellae,Vitaque tempestas quam pretiosa dedit?

The cripple at the Pool of Bethesda.

What Tantalus is this, who health still cravesSo oft, yet vainly, from the refluent waves?And whence this happy wreck, this healing strife,This storm that drifts its victim into life?Cl.

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!G.

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!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 doubtThou makest all those wounds afresh gush out.A.

Quisquis perdiderit animam suam mea causa inveniet eam.Matt. xvi. 25.

I, vita, i, perdam: mihi mors tua, Christe, reperta est:Mors tua vita mea est; mors tibi vita mea.Aut ego te abscondam Christi, mea vita, sepulchro:Non adeo procul est tertius ille dies.

Whosoever will lose his life for My sake shall find it.

Away, my life! Lord Christ, I have Thy death:My life's Thy death, and Thy death gives me breath.But come, my life, I'll hide thee in His tomb:The third day hence is not so long to come.A.

Primo mane venit ad sepulchrum Magdalena.Joan. xx. 1.

Tu matutinos praevertis, sancta, rubores,Magdala; sed jam tum Sol tuus ortus erat.[45]Jamque vetus merito vanos sol non agit ortus,Et tanti radios non putat esse suos.Quippe aliquo, reor, ille novus jam nictat in astro,Et se nocturna parvus habet facula.Quam velit ô tantae vel nuntius esse diei,Atque novus Soli Lucifer ire novo!

[Mary] Magdalene early, when it was yet dark, cometh unto the sepulchre.

Thou holy Magdalene,Ere rosy morn was seen,Awokest; but e'en thenThy Sun was in thy ken.Now the great olden sun,Rising as wont uponThe earth, is wilderèdWith new beams round him shed.Lo, as a star he seems,Or torch with nigh-quench'd beams;Keeping himself still smallBefore 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.

Thou holy Magdalene,Ere rosy morn was seen,Awokest; but e'en thenThy Sun was in thy ken.

Now the great olden sun,Rising as wont uponThe earth, is wilderèdWith new beams round him shed.

Lo, as a star he seems,Or torch with nigh-quench'd beams;Keeping himself still smallBefore 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.

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 fed.Cr.

ANOTHER VERSION.

Eas'ly-furnish'd table!And feast increas'd by eating:Still the mouth entreating.The bread itself, unableTo tell whence it flows,Finds it most surely grows.Finds itself guest—no fable!Whence is the mystic dower?From Him Who is all power.G.

Eas'ly-furnish'd table!And feast increas'd by eating:Still the mouth entreating.

The bread itself, unableTo tell whence it flows,Finds it most surely grows.

Finds itself guest—no fable!Whence is the mystic dower?From Him Who is all power.G.

Æthiops lotus.Act. viii. 38.

Ille niger sacris exit, quam lautus! ab undis:Nec frustra Æthiopem nempe lavare fuit.Mentem quam niveam piceae cutis umbra fovebit?Tam volet et nigros sancta Columba lares.

On the baptized Ethiopian.

Let it no longer be a forlorne hopeTo wash an Ethiope:He's washt; his gloomy skin a peacefull shadeFor his white soule is made:And now, I doubt not, the Eternall DoveA black-fac'd house will love.Cr.

ANOTHER VERSION.

How fair this Ethiop comes from th' holy fount!To wash a Black we may not vain account.How bright a soul is in a cloudy skin!The Dove now loves a black house to dwell in.B.

Publicanus procul stans percutiebat pectus suum.Luc. xviii. 13.

Ecce hic peccator timidus petit advena templum:Quodque audet solum, pectora moesta ferit.Fide miser; pulsaque fores has fortiter: illoInvenies templo tu propiore Deum.

The publican standing afar off smote on his breast.

Lo, a sinner, timid stranger,Stranger to the Lord our God,Seeks, in consciousness of danger,Where to leave sin's awful load.He to the Temple now is come,Bow'd in dread beside the door;His pallid lips, behold, are dumb;He smites his bosom, dares no more.Ah, distress'd one, smite thee thereInthattemple, God is near.G.

[In] obolum viduae.Marc. xii. 44.

Gutta brevis nummi, vitae patrona senilis,E digitis stillat non dubitantis anus;Istis multa vagi spumant de gurgite census:Isti abjecerunt scilicet; illa dedit.Κερματίοιο βραχεῖα ῥανὶς, βιότοιό τ' ἀφαυρῆςἝρκος, ἀποστάζει χειρὸς ἀπὸ τρομερᾶς.Τοῖς δὲ ἀνασκιρτᾷ πολὺς ἀφρὸς ἀναιδέος ὄλβου.οἱ μὲν ἀπέῤῥιπτον· κεῖνα δέδωκε μόνον.

Gutta brevis nummi, vitae patrona senilis,E digitis stillat non dubitantis anus;Istis multa vagi spumant de gurgite census:Isti abjecerunt scilicet; illa dedit.

Κερματίοιο βραχεῖα ῥανὶς, βιότοιό τ' ἀφαυρῆςἝρκος, ἀποστάζει χειρὸς ἀπὸ τρομερᾶς.Τοῖς δὲ ἀνασκιρτᾷ πολὺς ἀφρὸς ἀναιδέος ὄλβου.οἱ μὲν ἀπέῤῥιπτον· κεῖνα δέδωκε μόνον.

The widow's mites.

Two mites, two drops—yet all her house and land—Falle from a steady heart though trembling hand:The others' wanton wealth foams high and brave.The other cast away; she only gave.Cr.

Maria vero assidens ad pedes ejus audiebat eum.Luc. x. 39.

Aspice, namque novum est, ut ab hospite pendeat hospes!Hinc ori parat, hoc sumit ab ore cibos.Tune epulis adeo es, soror, officiosa juvandis,Et sinis has, inquit, Martha, perire dapes?

Mary, which also sat at Jesus' feet, and heard His word.

Behold, a new thing here—host hanging on her Guest!Preparing for His mouth, His mouth's words are her feast!O Martha sister, spare thy labour and thy cost:Tending the food that perisheth, diviner food is lost.G.

In Spiritus Sancti descensum.Act. ii.

Ferte sinus, ô, ferte: cadit vindemia coeli,Sanctaque ab aethereis volvitur uva jugis.Felices nimium, queis tam bona musta bibuntur;In quorum gremium lucida pergit hiems!En caput, en ut nectareo micat et micat astro;Gaudet et in roseis viva corona comis.Illis, ô Superi, quis sic neget ebrius esse?Illis, ne titubent, dant sua vina faces.

The descent of the Holy Spirit.

Bear, O bosoms, bear ye what Heaven's vintage showers,Sacred clusters pouring from ethereal bowers.Too happy, surely, ye who drink of wine so good;It comes into your bosoms a sparkling, cooling flood.Behold, with nectar'd star each head is shining, shining;Around your purpl'd locks a crown of life entwining.O Spirit of all flesh, to drink who'd be denied,Since Thou, lest they should falter, mak'st wine a torch to guide?G.

Congestis omnibus peregre profectus est.Luc. xv. 13.

Dic mihi, quo tantos properas, puer auree, nummos?Quorsum festinae conglomerantur opes?Cur tibi tota vagos ructans patrimonia census?Non poterunt siliquae nempe minoris emi?

ON THE PRODIGALL.

The younger son gathered all together, and took his journey into a far country.

Tell me, bright boy, tell me, my golden lad,Whither away so frolick? why so glad?What all thy wealth in counsile? all thy state?Are husks so deare? troth, 'tis a mighty rate.Cr.

Non solum vinciri, sed et mori paratus sum.Act. xxi. 13.

Non modo vinc'la, sed et mortem tibi, Christe, subibo,Paulus ait, docti callidus arte doli.Diceret hoc aliter: Tibi non modo velle ligari,Christe, sed et solvi[46]nempe paratus ero.

I am ready not to be bound only, but to dye.

Come death, come bonds, nor do you shrink, my eares,At those hard words man's cowardize calls feares.Save those of feare, no other bands feare I;Nor other death than this—the feare to die.Cr.

ANOTHER VERSION.

Not bonds for Thee, Lord, but death too I'll brave,Says Paul, adept in double-meanings grave.The words meant more: his wish was to be boundFor Christ; but loosèd too, and with Him found.G.

In Herodemσκωληκόβρωτον. Act. xii. 23.

Ille Deus, Deus! haec populi vox unica: tantum,Vile genus, vermes credere velle negant.At cito se miseri, cito nunc errasse fatentur;Carnes degustant, ambrosiamque putant.

On Herod worshipped as a god, eaten of worms.

A god! a god! one-mouth'd the people cry;Only the worms, vile tribe, his claim deny.Yet they, too, soon confess themselves astray,For in his flesh they find ambrosia.Cl.

Videns ventum magnum timuit, et cum coepisset demergi, clamavit, &c.Matt. xiv.

Petre, cades, ô, si dubitas: ô, fide: nec ipsum,Petre, negat fidis aequor habere fidem.Pondere pressa suo subsidunt caetera: solum,Petre, tuae mergit te levitatis onus.[47]

When he saw the wind boisterous he was afraid; and beginning to sink, he cried, &c.

Peter! doubt, and thou sinkest! O, believe;The sea will not thy faith, Peter, deceive.Things by their weight subside into the wave;Thy lightness, Peter, threats a wat'ry grave.G.

Obtulit eis pecunias.Act. viii. 18.

Quorsum hos hic nummos profers? quorsum, impie Simon?Non ille hic Judas, sed tibi Petrus adest.Vis emisse Deum? potius, precor, hoc age, Simon,Si potes, ipse prius daemona vende tuum.

He offered them money.

Money! what wouldst thou, impious? Look and see,'Tis Peter, not Iscariot, speaks to thee.Wouldst thou buy God? Nay, Simon, change thy tone,And try to sell that demon of thine own.Cl.

Umbra S. Petri medetur aegrotis.Act. v. 15.

Conveniunt alacres, sic, sic juvat ire sub umbras,Atque umbras fieri, creditis? umbra vetat.O Petri umbra potens, quae non miracula praestat?Nunc quoque, Papa, tuum sustinet illa decus.

The shadow of St. Peter heals the sick.

Beneath that shadow they delight to crowd;To turn to shades by that shade not allow'd.From Peter's shadow what may we not hope,Now all thy glory it sustains, O Pope!G.

Tetigit linguam ejus, &c. ... et loquebatur ... et praecepit illis ne cui dicerent: illi vero eo magis praedicabant.Marc. vii. 33, 36.

Christe, jubes muta ora loqui; muta ora loquuntur:Sana tacere jubes ora; nec illa tacent.Si digito tunc usus eras, muta ora resolvens;Nonne opus est tota nunc tibi, Christe, manu?

The dumbe healed, and the people enjoyned silence.

Christ bids the dumbe tongue speake; it speakes: the soundHee charges to be quiet; it runs round.If in the first He us'd His finger's touch,His hand's whole strength here could not be too much.Cr.

ANOTHER VERSION.

Christ, the mute lips Thou bidst to speak; and lo,Straightway words flow:Thou mute wouldst have the speaking lips; but theyThee disobey.If, then, a single finger Thou didst useMute tongues to loose,Thy whole hand now we need; for old and youngHave ceaseless tongue.G.

Sacerdos quidam descendens eadem via vidit, et praeteriit.Luc. x. 32.

Spectasne, ah, placidisque oculis mea vulnera tractas?O dolor! ô nostris vulnera vulneribus!Pax oris quam torva tui est! quam triste serenum!Tranquillus miserum qui videt, ipse facit.

And a certaine priest comming that way looked on him, and passed by.

Why dost thou wound my wounds, O thou that passest by,Handling and turning them with an unwounded eye?The calm that cools thine eye does shipwrack mine; for O,Unmov'd to see one wretched is to make him so.Cr.

ANOTHER RENDERING.

Dost look upon my wounds, serene-faced Priest?Thy placid eyes give wounds more deep and sore.O, thy calm stare avert! pass on, at least:They who see woe unmov'd cause it, and more.G.

ANOTHER VERSION.

Canst look, and by with look so tranquil pass,Nor heed my wounds? O, wounds on wounds, alas!O peace, too grim! on it set little store:Who looks unmov'd on misery makes it more.A.

Leprosi ingrati.Luc. xvii.

Dum linquunt Christum, ah morbus! sanantur euntes:Ipse etiam morbus sic medicina fuit.At sani Christum, mens ah male-sana! relinquunt:Ipsa etiam morbus sic medicina fuit.

The ungrateful lepers.

Whilst leaving Christ—ah, fell disease!—They're healèd as they go:Their malady their medicine is,Because He will'd it so.But healèd now—ah, mind diseas'd!—They from the Lord depart:Their healing their disease is now,Bred in an ingrate heart.G.

Ne soliciti estote tu crastinum.Matt. vi. 34.

I, miser, inque tuas rape non tua tempora curas:Et nondum natis perge perire malis.Mi querulis satis una dies, satis angitur horis:Una dies lacrymis mi satis uda suis.Non mihi venturos vacat expectare dolores:Nolo ego, nolo hodie crastinus esse miser.

Be ye not fretted about to-morrow.

Go, wretched mortal, antedate the day,Fill thee with care;Work thyself mis'ries, in a perverse way,Before they're there.Enough for me the day's cares in the day,The passing hour;Enough the tears that daily, yea or nay,In sorrow low'r.I have no leisure thus to antedateThe coming woe,Nor to-day darken with to-morrow's fate;And so I go.G.

ANOTHER VERSION.

Wretch, to thy woes add notto-morrow morn;And haste not thou togroan with ills unborn.Each day's laments, eachhour's griefs, me suffice;Each morn, noon, eve, withrueful weeping eyes.No leisure is to look forgriefs to be:Stir not to-day to-morrow'spains in me.A.

A telonio Matthaeus.Matt. ix. 9.

Ah satis, ah nimis est: noli ultra ferre magistrum,Et lucro domino turpia colla dare.Jam fuge; jam, Matthaee, feri fuge regna tyranni:Inque bonam, felix i fugitive,[48]crucem.

Matthew called from the receipt of custom.

Enough, too much; no more a master's yokeEndure, nor bow to lordly Lucre's stroke:His service from thy slavish neck is broke.Flee, Matthew, flee the cruel tyrant's sway,And hie thee, like a happy runaway,To the sweet cross that waits for thee to-day.R. Wi.

Enough, too much; no more a master's yokeEndure, nor bow to lordly Lucre's stroke:His service from thy slavish neck is broke.

Flee, Matthew, flee the cruel tyrant's sway,And hie thee, like a happy runaway,To the sweet cross that waits for thee to-day.R. Wi.

Viduae filius e feretro matri redditur.Luc. vii. 15.

En redeunt, lacrymasque breves nova gaudia pensant;Bisque illa est, uno in pignore, facta parens.Felix quae magis es nati per funera mater:Amisisse, iterum cui peperisse fuit.

The dead son re-delivered to his mother.

Sweet restoration! by new joys outweigh'd,Brief sorrow is exil'd,And the lorn widow is a mother madeTwice in her only child.O happy mother! then a mother mostWhen all her hopes seem'd vain:Happy, who wept beside a dear son lost,And found him born again.Cl.

Sweet restoration! by new joys outweigh'd,Brief sorrow is exil'd,And the lorn widow is a mother madeTwice in her only child.

O happy mother! then a mother mostWhen all her hopes seem'd vain:Happy, who wept beside a dear son lost,And found him born again.Cl.

Bonum intrare in coelos cum uno oculo, &c.Matt. xviii. 9.

Uno oculo? ah centum potius mihi, millia centum:Nam quis ibi, in coelo, quis satis Argus erit?Aut si oculus mihi tantum unus conceditur, unusIste oculus fiam totus et omnis ego.

It is better to go into heaven with one eye, &c.

One eye? a thousand rather, and a thousand more,To fix those full-fac't glories. O, he's pooreOf eyes that has but Argus' store!Yet, if thou'lt fill one poore eye with Thy Heaven and Thee,O grant, sweet Goodnesse, that one eye may beAll and every whit of me.Cr.

ANOTHER VERSION.

With one eye! Ah! but rather to me giveA hundred or a hundred-thousand, Lord.All Argus' eyes were no superlativeTo view the glories Thy three heavens afford.

Or, O my God, if unto those who die,It be Thy will only to give one eye,Grant my whole body that one eye to be,That thus I may forever gaze on Thee.G.

Hydropicus sanatur.Luc. xiv. 2-4.

Ipse suum pelagus, morboque immersus aquosoQui fuit, ut laetus nunc micat atque levis:Quippe in vina iterum Christus, puto, transtulit undas;Et nunc iste suis ebrius est ab aquis.Himself is his own sea;Dropsy his maladyIn sad severity.But Christ the Lord he sees,Who touching him him frees;Now joyous and at ease.Again, as I opine,The Lord transmutes to wineBy miracle divine;And now, still more and more,His own wine-water storePours mirth at ev'ry pore.G.

Ipse suum pelagus, morboque immersus aquosoQui fuit, ut laetus nunc micat atque levis:Quippe in vina iterum Christus, puto, transtulit undas;Et nunc iste suis ebrius est ab aquis.

Himself is his own sea;Dropsy his maladyIn sad severity.

But Christ the Lord he sees,Who touching him him frees;Now joyous and at ease.

Again, as I opine,The Lord transmutes to wineBy miracle divine;

And now, still more and more,His own wine-water storePours mirth at ev'ry pore.G.

Non erat iis in diversorio locus.Luc. ii. 7.

Illi non locus est? Illum ergo pellitis? Illum?Ille Deus, quem sic pellitis; ille Deus.O furor! humani miracula saeva furoris!Illi non locus est, quo sine nec locus est.

There was no room for them in the inn.

No place for Him! So Him you drive away;You drive away your God, your God. O, stay!O height of human madness! wonders rare!No place for Him! without Whom no place were.G.

In lacrymas Lazari spretas a Divite.Luc. xvi.

Felix, ô, lacrymis, ô Lazare, ditior istis,Quam qui purpureas it gravis inter opes:Illum cum rutili nova purpura vestiet ignis,Ille tuas lacrymas quam volet esse suas.

Upon Lazarus his teares.

Rich Lazarus, richer in those gems, thy teares,Than Dives in the roabes he weares:He scornes them now; but, O, they'l suit full wellWith th' purple he must weare in Hell!Cr.

ANOTHER RENDERING.

O happy Lazarus! richer in thy tearsThan he who midst his riches purple wears.Hell's purple flames red-glowing shall be his:Ah, then how shall he count thy tears a bliss!

Indignatur Caiphas Christo se confitenti.Matt. xxvi. 65.

Tu Christum, Christum quod non negat esse lacessis:Ipsius hoc crimen, quod fuit ipse, fuit.Tene Sacerdotem credam? Novus ille SacerdosPer quem impune Deo non licet esse Deum.

Caiphas angry that Christ confesses He is the Christ.

Wroth that The Christ confesseth Christ He is!His fault that He is but Himself, I wis.Thee shall I reckon priest? Strange priest is heWho leaves not God His own Divinity!G.

Cum tot signa edidisset, non credebant in eum.Joan. xii. 37.

Non tibi, Christe, fidem tua tot miracula praestant;O verbi, ô dextrae dulcia regna tuae!Non praestant? neque te post tot miracula credunt?Mirac'lum qui non credidit, ipse fuit.[49]

But though He had done so many miracles before them, yet they believed not on Him.

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