Jesus, true fisher thou of souls! My only Saviour, only advocate! Since thou God's righteousness hast satisfied, I fear no more to fail at heaven's gate. My Spouse bears all my sins, though great they be, And all his merits places upon me.... Come, Saviour, make thy mercies known.... Jesus for me was crucified: For me the bitter death endured, For me eternal life procured.[401] It has been said that Margaret's poems are theology in rhyme. It is true that her verses are not so elegant as those of our age, and that their spirit is more theological than the poetry of our days; but the theology is not that of the schools, it is that of the heart. What specially irritated the Sorbonne was the peace and assurance that Margaret enjoyed, precious privilege of a redeemed soul, which scholasticism had condemned beforehand. The queen, leaning upon the Saviour, seemed to have no more fear. 'Listen again,' said Beda: Satan, where is now thy tower? Sin, all withered is thy power. Pain or death no more I fear, While Jesus Christ is with me here. Of myself no strength have I, But God, my shield, is ever nigh.[402] [Sidenote: ASSURANCE OF SALVATION.] Thus, argued the doctors of the Sorbonne, the queen imagines that sins are remitted gratuitously, no satisfaction being required of sinners. 'Observe the foolish assurance,' said the syndic, 'into which the new doctrine may bring souls. This is what we find in the _Mirror_: 'Not hell's black depth, nor heaven's vast height, Nor sin with which I wage continual fight, Me for a single day can move, O holy Father, from thy perfect love.'[403] This simple faith, supported by the promises of God, scandalised the doctors. 'No one,' said they, 'can promise himself anything certain as regards his own salvation, unless he has learnt it by a special revelation from God.' The council of Trent made this declaration an article of faith. 'The queen,' continued her accuser, 'speaks as if she longed for nothing but heaven: 'How beautiful is death, That brings to weary me the hour of rest! Oh! hear my cry and hasten, Lord, to me, And put an end to all my misery.'[404] Some one having observed that the Queen of Navarre had not appended her name to the title of her work, her accuser replied: 'Wait until the end, the signature is there;' and then he read the last line: The good that he has done to me, his Margaret.[405] In a short time insinuations and accusations against the sister of the king were heard from every pulpit. Here a monk made his hearers shudder as he described Margaret's wicked _heresies_; and there another tried to make them laugh. 'These things,' says Theodore Beza, 'irritated the Sorbonne extremely, and especially Beda and those of his temper, and they could not refrain from attacking the Queen of Navarre in their sermons.'[406]