Now Thou art open wide; the barrier dear Of Thy great heart unclos'd by cruel spear; And nails as keys unlock Thee everywhere. Ah, he whose wicked hand thus forc'd the gate Of heaven, perhaps at heaven's shut door will wait One day, with outer darkness for his fate. G. XXII. _In spinas demtas a Christi capite cruentatas._ Accipe, an ignoscis? de te sata germina, miles. Quam segeti est messis discolor illa suae! O quae tam duro gleba est tam grata colono? Inserit hic spinas: reddit et illa rosas. _Upon the thornes taken downe from our Lord's head bloody._ Knowst thou this, souldier? 'tis a much-chang'd plant, which yet Thyselfe didst set; 'Tis chang'd indeed: did Autumn e're such beauties bring To shame his Spring? O, who so hard an husbandman could ever find A soyle so kind? Is not the soile a kind one, thinke ye, that returnes Roses for thornes? CR. ANOTHER VERSION. Take, soldier--know'st them not?--thy planted germs; A harvest how unlike to its seed-corn! What soil yields husbandman such kindly terms? The rose he gathers, where he planted thorn. G. XXIII. Joan. iii. 1-21. Nox erat, et Christum, Doctor male docte, petebas In Christo tenebras depositure tuas. Ille autem multo dum te bonus irrigat ore, Atque per arcanas ducit in alta vias, Sol venit, et primo pandit se flore diei, Ludit et in dubiis aureus horror aquis. Sol oritur; sed adhuc, et adhuc tamen, ô bone, nescis. Sol oritur, tecum nox tamen est, et adhuc . . . . . Non cœli, illa fuit, nox fuit illa tua. _Nicodemus._ 'Twas night; and, Teacher all untaught, Thy darkness thou to Christ hast brought But while attent He speaks to thee Benignant words, that thou mayst see, Leading higher still and higher, As thy yearnings do aspire, Guiding thee, by sure grace given, Through secret paths that reach to heaven; Lo, the Sun on thee is risen, Bursting from his cloudy prison, Showing Him, the Life, the Way, Flushing with first bloom of day, Quivering with a golden light Such as on wav'ring seas gleams bright. The Sun is risen; yet darkness lies, Good Nicodemus, on thine eyes; But the night's thine own; for, lo, All heav'n above doth lustrous glow. G. XXIV. _Domitiano de S. Johanne ad portam Lat._ Ergo ut inultus eas? sed nec tamen ibis inultus, Sic violare ausus meque meosque deos. Ure oleo, lictor. Oleo parat urere lictor: Sed quem uri lictor credidit, unctus erat. Te quoque sic olei virtus malefida fefellit? Sic tua te Pallas, Domitiane, juvat? _To Domitian, concerning St. John commanded to be cast into a caldron of boiling oil._