That on her lap she casts her humble eye, 'Tis the sweet pride of her humility. The faire starre is well fixt, for where, O, where, Could she have fixt it on a fairer spheare? 'Tis Heav'n, 'tis Heav'n she sees, Heaven's God there lyes; She can see Heaven, and ne're lift up her eyes. This new guest to her eyes new lawes hath given: 'Twas once looke up, 'tis now looke downe to Heaven. CR. LII. _In vulnera Dei pendentis._ O frontis, lateris, manuumque pedumque cruores; O quae purpureo flumina fonte patent: In nostram, ut quondam, pes non valet ire salutem, Sed natat; in fluviis, ah, natat ille suis. Fixa manus; dat, fixa: pios bona dextera rores Donat, et in donum solvitur ipsa suum. O latus, ô torrens; quis enim torrentior exit Nilus, ubi pronis praecipitatur aquis? Mille et mille simul cadit et cadit undique guttis Frons: viden' ut saevus purpuret ora pudor? Spinae hoc irriguae florent crudeliter imbre, Inque novas sperant protinus ire rosas. Quisque capillus it exiguo tener alveus amne, Hoc quasi de rubro rivulus oceano. O nimium vivae pretiosis amnibus undae: Fons vitae nunquam verior ille fuit. _On the wounds of our crucified Lord._ O bleeding wounds of brow, feet, hands, and side; Rivers which from a purple fount spread wide. No more to save us now that foot can go, But swims in streams which from its own wounds flow. Transfix'd His hand yet gives--gives dewdrops holy, And into its own gift is melted wholly. O side, O torrent; for with torrent strong What flooded Nile more swift is driven along? Drops from His brow in thousands fall and fall; See to His face a cruel blush they call. By this sad shower the thorns unkindly nurst Soon into new-blown roses hope to burst. Each hair becomes a slender streamlet's bed, As if a rivulet from this ocean red. O waves too much alive with precious streams, Nowhere a fount of life more truly gleams.[55] R. WI. LIII. _Quare cum Publicanis manducat Magister vester?_ Matt. ix. 11. Ergo istis socium se peccatoribus addit? Ergo istis sacrum non negat ille latus? Tu, Pharisaee, rogas, Jesus cur fecerit istud? Nae dicam: Jesus, non Pharisaeus, erat. _Wherefore eateth your Master with Publicans?_ Wherefore associates He with sinners vile? Why hides He not His holy self the while? Askest thou, Pharisee, how this can be? Because 'tis Jesus, not a Pharisee. G. LIV. _Ecce locus ubi jacuit Dominus._ Ipsum, ipsum, precor, ô potius mini, candide, monstra: Ipsi, ipsi ô lacrymis oro sit ire meis. Si monstrare locum satis est, et dicere nobis, En, Maria, hic tuus en hic jacuit Dominus; Ipsa ulnas monstrare meas, et dicere possum, En, Maria, hic tuus en hic jacuit Dominus.