_Ego vitis vera._ Joan. xv. 1. Credo quidem, sed et hoc hostis te credidit ipse Caiaphas, et Judas credidit ipse, reor. Unde illis, Jesu, vitis nisi vera fuisses, Tanta tui potuit sanguinis esse sitis? _I am the True Vine._ 'Believe!' e'en Caiaphas, thy foe, believèd Thee the True Vine; and Judas too, I think. Had they not, Lord, Thee as True Vine receivèd, Could they have thirsted so Thy Blood to drink? G. XVIII. _Abscessum Christi queruntur Discipuli._ Ille abiit, jamque ô quae nos mala cunque manetis, Sistite jam in nostras tela parata neces. Sistite; nam quibus haec vos olim tela paratis, Abscessu Domini jam periere sui. _The departure of Christ lamented by the Disciples._ The Lord is gone; and now, all evils dire, Hold back the darts which for our death you flourish: Yea, hold them back, nor waste on us your ire, For with our Lord's departure, lo, we perish. G. XIX. _In descensum Spiritus Sancti._ Act. ii. 1-4. Quae vehit auratos nubes dulcissima nimbos? Quis mitem pluviam lucidus imber agit? Agnosco, nostros haec nubes abstulit ignes: Haec nubes in nos jam redit igne pari. O nubem gratam et memorem, quae noluit ultra Tam saeve de se nos potuisse queri! O bene; namque alio non posset rore rependi, Coelo exhalatum quod modo terra dedit. _On the descent of the Holy Spirit._ What sweetest cloud comes wafting golden shower? What gentle raindrops bring their shining dower? The cloud which stole our flame, our heart's desire, This very cloud returns with equal fire. O kindly-mindful cloud, which could not brook That we should mourn thee with so sad a look! 'Tis well; no other dew had countervail'd That which from earth to heaven was late exhal'd. R. WI. XX. Act. x. 39. Quis malus appendit de mortis stipite vitam? O malus agricola, hoc inseruisse fuit? Immo, quis appendit vitae hac ex arbore mortem? O bonus Agricola, hoc inseruisse fuit. What wicked one affix'd Life to Death's tree? O wretched gard'ner, call'st thou this engrafting? Nay, tell me who affix'd Death to Life's tree? O noble Gard'ner, this I call engrafting. G. XXI. _Ego sum Ostium._ Joan. x. 9. Jamque pates, cordisque seram gravis hasta reclusit, Et clavi claves undique te reserant. Ah, vereor, sibi ne manus impia clauserit illas, Quae cœli has ausa est sic aperire fores. _I am the Doore._ And now th' art set wide ope; the speare's sad art, Lo, hath unlockt Thee at the very heart. He to himselfe--I feare the worst-- And his owne hope, Hath shut these doores of heaven, that durst Thus set them ope. CR. ANOTHER VERSION.