Let wind with murmurs harsh nowhere be heard; Nowhere wood tremble, its curl'd tresses stirr'd. Calm-flowing Sea greet Earth with kisses bland, Earth unto Sea its bosom kind expand. Let holy Peace on golden pinions steal, Till each blest brow is mark'd with its own seal. Ah, why elsewhere for this, need signs be sought? To each blest brow tears seal enough have brought. R. WI. XXXVI. _In die Conjurationis sulphureae._ Quam bene dispositis annus dat currere festis! Post omnes Sanctos omne scelus sequitur. _Upon the Powder-day._ How fit our well-rank'd Feasts do follow! All-mischiefe comes after All-Hallow.[50] CR. XXXVII. _Deus sub utero Virginis._ Luc. i. 31. Ecce tuus, Natura, pater; pater hic tuus hic est: Ille, uterus matris quem tenet, ille pater. Pellibus exiguis arctatur Filius ingens, Quem tu non totum, crede, nec ipsa capis. Quanta uteri, Regina, tui reverentia tecum est, Dum jacet hic coelo sub breviore Deus! Conscia divino gliscunt praecordia motu, Nec vehit aethereos sanctior aura polos. Quam bene sub tecto tibi concipiuntur eodem Vota, et, vota cui concipienda, Deus! Quod nubes alia, et tanti super atria cœli Quaerunt, invenient hoc tua vota domi. O felix anima haec, quae tam sua gaudia tangit! Sub conclave suo cui suus ignis adest. Corpus amet, licet, illa suum, neque sidera malit: Quod vinc'lum est aliis, hoc habet illa domum. Sola jaces, neque sola; toro quocunque recumbis, Illo estis positi tuque tuusque toro. Immo ubi casta tuo posita es cum conjuge conjunx; Quod mirum magis est, es tuus ipsa torus. _God in the Virgin's womb._ Thy Father, Nature, here thy Father see: Whom womb of mother holds, thy Father He. Scant teguments the mighty Son enchain, Whom thou thyself not wholly dost contain. What reverence, Queen, to thine own womb is given, While God lies here beneath a lesser heaven! With sacred motion swells her conscious breast; Nor are the poles upborne by airs more blest. 'Neath the same roof are well conceiv'd by thee Vows, and the God to whom vows offer'd be. What other prayers o'er clouds and sky's vast bound Seek, by thy prayers this will at home be found. Blest soul, so nigh to thy supreme desire, To which 'neath its own shrine dwells its own fire. She may her body love, nor heaven prefer: What chains down others is a home to her. Lone, yet not lone, where'er thou dost recline; On that same couch are laid both thou and thine. Nay, when with thy chaste spouse, chaste wife thou'rt laid-- More strange, thyself thine own blest couch art made. R. WI. XXXVIII. _Ad Judaeos mactatores Stephani._ Act. vii. 59.