_In lacrymas Christi patientis._ Saeve dolor! potes hoc? oculos quoque perpluis istos? O quam non meritas haec arat unda genas! O lacrymas ego flere tuas, ego dignior istud, Quod tibi cunque cadit roris, habere meum. Siccine? me tibi flere tuas! ah, mi bone Jesu, Si possem lacrymas vel mihi flere meas! Flere meas? immo immo tuas, hoc si modo possem: Non possem lacrymas, non ego flere meas. Flere tuas est flere meas, tua lacryma, Christe, Est mea vel lacryma est si tua, causa mea est. _Of the tears of the suffering Christ._ O cruel Pain! I ask thee how Thou canst do what thou'rt doing now? Dost thou also--or is't my fears?-- Drench His sweet eyes with scalding tears? O how that show'r furrows amain His undeserving cheek, as rain! More meet it were that I should know The tears that from His anguish flow: More meet it were that I should feel All dews that down His wan cheek steal: O is it thus? Would that it were! That I might weep Thy laden tear: Yea, blessèd Jesus, would that I For mine own self could weeping lie: Mine own tears weep? nay, they are Thine, For all Thy tears, alas, are mine. Ah, not a tear that Thou didst shed, When sorrow bow'd Thy sacred head, But came of human woe or guilt, For which at last Thy Blood was spilt; And even if the tears were Thine, Being for my sake, they're rather mine. G. IV. _In sepulcrum Domini._ Joan. xix. 38-42. Jam cedant, veteris cedant miracula saxi, Unde novus subito fluxerat amne latex. Tu felix rupes, ubi se lux tertia tollet, Flammarum sacro fonte superba flues. _The sepulchre of the Lord._ Yield place, ye wonders of the ancient stone Whence sudden-gushing streams were seen to flow: When the third day, blest rock, on thee has shone, Proudly with fount of sacred fire thou'lt glow. G. V. _Ubi amorem praecipit._ Joan. xiii. 14. Sic magis in numeros morituraque carmina vivit Dulcior extrema voce caducus olor; Ut tu inter strepitus odii, et tua funera, Jesu, Totus amor liquido totus amore sonas. _The parting words of Love._ E'en as the dying swan, sweeter for failing breath, Dies not, but rather lives, in her last wistful song, Dost Thou, Lord, mid hate's din and close-approaching death, As Love, with melting voice, Thy dying love prolong. G. VI. Act. xii. 23. Euge, Deus--pleno populus fremit undique plausu-- Certe non hominem vox sonat, euge, Deus! Sed tamen iste Deus qui sit, vos dicite, vermes, Intima turba illi; vos fovet ille sinu. _Herod devoured of worms._ Behold a god! full-voic'd the people cry; Not man, but god, with shouts they him attest. What kind of god he is, ye worms, reply-- A crowd that know the secrets of his breast. G. VII. _Bonum est nobis esse hic._