O, this black cloud! a white breast does it show-- A breast more white than a swan's neck of snow? More bright than golden sunshine let it be! However fair itself, 'tis black to me. From blacker cloud ne'er issu'd stormy blast, Nor thunderbolts of angry heaven were cast. Black! though no showers or shadows round it play; If Night it bring not, yet it takes our Day. R. WI. XXXIII. _Vidit urbem, et flevit super eam._ Luc. xix. 41, 42. Ergo meas spernis lacrymas, urbs perfida? Sperne. Sperne meas, quas ô sic facis esse tuas. Tempus erit, lacrymas poterit cum lacryma demum Nostra, nec immerito, spernere spreta tuas. _He saw the city, and wept over it._ Why scornest thou My tears, deceitful city? Scorn, scorn My tears, and thus thou mak'st them thine. The time will come when thou shalt seek My pity; But I shall scorn thy tears, as thou scorn'st Mine. G. XXXIV. _Nec sicut iste publicanus._ Luc. xviii. 11. Tu quoque dum istius miseri peccata fateris, Quae nec is irato mitius ungue notat; Hic satis est gemino bonus in sua crimina telo. Interea, quid erit, mi Pharisaee, tuis? _Nor even as this publican._ While thou too dost this wretch's sins confess, Which he with hand and tongue deplores no less; If he 'gainst his own crimes twice just will be, What thinks he meanwhile of the Pharisee? R. WI. XXXV. _Accedentes Discipuli excitaverunt eum._ Matt. viii. 25. Ah, quis erat furor hos, tam raros, solvere somnos? O vos, queis Christi vel sopor invigilat! Illum si somnus tenuit, vos somnia terrent, Somnia tam vanos ingeminata metus. Nil Christi nocuit somnus, mihi credite. Somnus Qui nocuit, vestrae somnus erat fidei. _His Disciples came and awoke Him._ What madness this, slumbers so rare to break, O ye, for whom even Christ's sleep doth wake! If sleep held Him, ye're terrified by dreams-- Dreams which redouble fear that only seems. Christ's sleep nought injur'd you, indeed 'tis true: Your faith's sleep, and that only, injur'd you. R. WI. XXXVI. _In mulierem Canaanaeam cum Domino decertantem._ Matt. xv. 22-28. Cedit io jam, jamque cadet modo, fortiter urge, Jam tua ni desit dextera, jamque cadet. Nimirum hoc velit ipse, tuo favet ipse triumpho, Ipse tuas tacitus res tuus hostis agit. Quas patitur facit ille manus; ictu ille sub omni est; Atque in te vires sentit, amatque suas. Usque adeo haud tuus hic ferus est, neque ferreus hostis; Usque adeo est miles non truculentus Amor. Illo quam facilis victoria surgit ab hoste, Qui, tantum ut vinci possit, in arma venit! _The woman of Canaan._