The Complete Works of Richard Crashaw, Volume IICrashaw, Richard
General
The Complete Works of Richard Crashaw, Volume II
Crashaw, Richard
English poetry -- Early modern, 1500-1700
Thou holy Magdalene,
Ere rosy morn was seen,
Awokest; but e'en then
Thy Sun was in thy ken.
Now the great olden sun,
Rising as wont upon
The earth, is wilderèd
With new beams round him shed.
Lo, as a star he seems,
Or torch with nigh-quench'd beams;
Keeping himself still small
Before the Lord of All.
How well might'st thou, O Sun,
Submit to be outshone,
And, as a morning-star,
Herald One grander far! G.
VIII.
_Quinque panes ad quinque hominum millia._ Joan. vi. 9.
En mensae faciles, redivivaque vulnera coenae,
Quaeque indefessa provocat ora dape!
Aucta Ceres stupet arcana se crescere messe.
Denique quid restat? Pascitur ipse cibus.
_On the miracle of multiplyed loaves._
See here an easie feast that knows no wound,
That under Hunger's teeth will needs be found;
A subtle harvest of unbounded bread:
What would ye more? Here Food itselfe is fed. CR.
ANOTHER VERSION.
Eas'ly-furnish'd table!
And feast increas'd by eating:
Still the mouth entreating.
The bread itself, unable
To tell whence it flows,
Finds it most surely grows.
Finds itself guest--no fable!
Whence is the mystic dower?
From Him Who is all power. G.
IX.
_Æthiops lotus._ Act. viii. 38.
Ille niger sacris exit, quam lautus! ab undis:
Nec frustra Æthiopem nempe lavare fuit.
Mentem quam niveam piceae cutis umbra fovebit?
Tam volet et nigros sancta Columba lares.
_On the baptized Ethiopian._
Let it no longer be a forlorne hope
To wash an Ethiope:
He's washt; his gloomy skin a peacefull shade
For his white soule is made:
And now, I doubt not, the Eternall Dove
A black-fac'd house will love. CR.
ANOTHER VERSION.
How fair this Ethiop comes from th' holy fount!
To wash a Black we may not vain account.
How bright a soul is in a cloudy skin!
The Dove now loves a black house to dwell in. B.
X.
_Publicanus procul stans percutiebat pectus suum._ Luc. xviii. 13.
Ecce hic peccator timidus petit advena templum:
Quodque audet solum, pectora moesta ferit.
Fide miser; pulsaque fores has fortiter: illo
Invenies templo tu propiore Deum.
_The publican standing afar off smote on his breast._
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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