Ah tamen ipse roga: tibi scilicet ille roganti Esse nequit durus, nec solet esse, Pater. Ille suos omni facie te figit amores; Inque tuos toto effunditur ore sinus. Quippe, tuos spectans oculos, se spectat in illis; Inque tuo, Jesu, se fovet ipse sinu. Ex te metitur sese, et sua numina discit: Inde repercussus redditur ipse sibi. Ille tibi se, te ille sibi par nectit utrinque: Tam tuus est, ut nec sit magis ille suus. Ergo roga: ipse roga: tibi scilicet ille roganti Esse nequit durus, nec solet esse, Pater. Illum ut ego rogitem? Hoc, eheu, non ore rogandum; Ore satis puras non faciente preces. Illum ego si rogitem, quis scit quibus ille procellis Surgat, et in miserum hoc quae tonet ira caput? Isto etiam forsan veniet mihi fulmen ab ore: Saepe isto certe fulmen ab ore venit. Ille una irati forsan me cuspide verbi, Uno me nutu figet, et interii: Non ego, non rogitem: mihi scilicet ille roganti Durior esse potest, et solet esse, Pater. Immo rogabo: nec ore meo tamen: immo rogabo Ore meo, Jesu, scilicet ore tuo. _I do not say that I will pray the Father for you._ Yea, Lord, ask Thou: He is not wont to be, He cannot prove unkind, if ask'd of Thee. With favouring eyes He makes Thee all His love; Toward Thine heart, Lord, His whole affections move. Beholding Thy fair eyes Himself He sees; In Thy pure breast Himself He cherishes. By Thee He metes Himself, His godhead learns, And, sweet reversion! to Himself returns. He Thee, Thou He, in one Ye intertwine; He is His own no more, He is so Thine. Yea, Lord, ask Thou: He is not wont to be, He cannot prove unkind, if ask'd of Thee. Shall these lips, Lord, ask Him? But how should they? With rightful words and pure they fail to pray. If I should ask Him, then, what tempests dread, What anger thundering o'er this wretched head! His look perchance would gleam as lightning down-- Yea, oft, I know, as lightning falls His frown. Perchance the javelin of one angry word, One nod, would slay, and I should die unheard. I? I'll not ask: Lord, He is wont to be, He easy proves unkind, if ask'd of me. Yet, stay: I'll ask:--not with these lips of mine; Yea, with my lips,--my lips, Lord, namely Thine. A. CLXXVIII. _In die ascensionis dominicae._ Act. i. 9, 10. Usque etiam nostros te, Christe, tenemus amores? Heu, cœli quantam hinc invidiam patimur! Invidiam patiamur: habent sua sidera cœli, Quaeque comunt tremulas crispa tot ora faces; Phœbenque et Phoebum, et tot pictae vellera nubis, Vellera, quae rosea Sol variavit acu. Quantum erat, ut sinerent hac una nos face ferri? Una sit hic: sunt et sint ibi mille faces. Nil agimus: nam tu quia non ascendis ad illum, Aether[85] descendit, Christe, vel ipse tibi.