ANOTHER VERSION. Silence, silence, O vile crowd; Yea, I will now cry aloud: He comes near, Who is to me Light and life and liberty. Silence seek ye? yes, I'll be Silent when He speaks to me, He my Hope; ah, meek and still, I shall 'bide His holy will. O crowd, ye it may surprise, But His voice holdeth my eyes: O have pity on my night, By the day that gives glad light; O have pity on my night, By the day would lose its light, If it gat not of Thee sight; O have pity on my night, By day of faith upspringing bright; That day within my soul that burns, And for eyes' day unto Thee turns. Lord, O Lord, give me this day, Nor do Thou take that away. G. XLVII. _In Pharisaeos Christi verbis insidiantes._ Matt. xxii. 15. O quam te miseri ludunt vaga taedia voti, Ex ore hoc speras qui, Pharisaee, malum! Sic quis ab Aurorae noctem speraverit ulnis, Unde solet primis Sol tener ire rosis? Sic Acheronta petas illinc unde amne corusco Lactea sydereos Cynthia lavit equos. Sic violas aconita roges: sic toxica nympham, Garrula quae vitreo gurgite vexat humum. Denique, ut exemplo res haec propriore patescat, A te sic speret quis, Pharisaee, bonum? _The Pharisees insidiously watching the words of Christ._ O self-baffl'd Pharisee, Vainly dost thou weary thee, Hoping at His holy mouth To catch other than the Truth: Stainless, holy, pure is He, Guileless as Simplicity. Who would e'er expect black Night In the bosom of the Light, When the young sun in splendour burns, And the dawn to roses turns? Who, again, would seek to mark Acheron plunging i' the dark, Where white Cynthia's starry steeds Lave them by the glitt'ring meads? Who would aconite think to get From the fragrant violet? Or, watching by the babbling rill Gushing in pureness from the hill, Think thence poison to distil? In fine, instance nearer thee-- Would any ever hope to see Aught of good in Pharisee? G. XLVIII. Matt. ix. 20. Falleris, et nudum male ponis, pictor, Amorem; Non nudum facis hunc, cum sine veste facis. Nonne hic est, dum sic digito patet ille fideli, Tunc cum vestitus, tunc quoque nudus Amor? _Touched the hem of His garment._ Erringly, painter, thou portrayst Love bare: Not bare you make him, though no clothes he wear. Here, while laid open to believing hand, Though clothed indeed, bare truly see Him stand. R. WI. XLIX. Tolle oculos, tolle, ô tecum tua sydera nostros. Ah quid enim, quid agant hic sine sole suo? Id quod agant sine sole suo tua sydera, coelum: Id terrae haec agerent hic sine sole suo. Illa suo sine sole suis caeca imbribus essent: Caeca suis lacrymis haec sine sole suo. _The departing Saviour._