The Complete Works of Richard Crashaw Volume II Part 40

Nor with their own defence content they rest, But seek a hiding-place in mother's breast.

Thus the snow melts where His warm touch is plac'd, And genial Spring blooms out of Winter chaste.

Such day such evening-dew deserves to drink; Such suns in such a bed deserve to sink.

Sky-closing Eve, thy purple veil entwine, Sun, thy luxurious couch incarnadine; While wanton Thetis day too early closes, Thy shameless bed place 'mid Hesperian roses; Roses, forsooth, by conscious blushes painted, By sin with its own tell-tale redness tainted.

Nights snowy-white, chaste couch to these suns be, Which virgin Thetis spreads o'er lucent sea; All-holy flowers, lilies inviolate, Roses with innocent blush upon them wait.

Be theirs this bosom, where reclin'd all night They bathe themselves in ocean milky-white.

And let them bathe, till their own morn say, rise; And Day itself drink splendour from these eyes. R. WI.

CLXXVII.

_Non dico, me rogaturum Patrem pro vobis._ Joan. xvi. 26.

Ah tamen ipse roga: tibi scilicet ille roganti Esse nequit durus, nec solet esse, Pater.

Ille suos omni facie te figit amores; Inque tuos toto effunditur ore sinus.

Quippe, tuos spectans oculos, se spectat in illis; Inque tuo, Jesu, se fovet ipse sinu.

Ex te met.i.tur sese, et sua numina discit: Inde repercussus redditur ipse sibi.

Ille tibi se, te ille sibi par nect.i.t utrinque: Tam tuus est, ut nec sit magis ille suus.

Ergo roga: ipse roga: tibi scilicet ille roganti Esse nequit durus, nec solet esse, Pater.

Illum ut ego rogitem? Hoc, eheu, non ore rogandum; Ore satis puras non faciente preces.

Illum ego si rogitem, quis scit quibus ille procellis Surgat, et in miserum hoc quae tonet ira caput?

Isto etiam forsan veniet mihi fulmen ab ore: Saepe isto certe fulmen ab ore venit.

Ille una irati forsan me cuspide verbi, Uno me nutu figet, et interii: Non ego, non rogitem: mihi scilicet ille roganti Durior esse potest, et solet esse, Pater.

Immo rogabo: nec ore meo tamen: immo rogabo Ore meo, Jesu, scilicet ore tuo.

_I do not say that I will pray the Father for you._

Yea, Lord, ask Thou: He is not wont to be, He cannot prove unkind, if ask'd of Thee.

With favouring eyes He makes Thee all His love; Toward Thine heart, Lord, His whole affections move.

Beholding Thy fair eyes Himself He sees; In Thy pure breast Himself He cherishes.

By Thee He metes Himself, His G.o.dhead learns, And, sweet reversion! to Himself returns.

He Thee, Thou He, in one Ye intertwine; He is His own no more, He is so Thine.

Yea, Lord, ask Thou: He is not wont to be, He cannot prove unkind, if ask'd of Thee.

Shall these lips, Lord, ask Him? But how should they?

With rightful words and pure they fail to pray.

If I should ask Him, then, what tempests dread, What anger thundering o'er this wretched head!

His look perchance would gleam as lightning down-- Yea, oft, I know, as lightning falls His frown.

Perchance the javelin of one angry word, One nod, would slay, and I should die unheard.

I? I'll not ask: Lord, He is wont to be, He easy proves unkind, if ask'd of me.

Yet, stay: I'll ask:--not with these lips of mine; Yea, with my lips,--my lips, Lord, namely Thine. A.

CLXXVIII.

_In die ascensionis dominicae._ Act. i. 9, 10.

Usque etiam nostros te, Christe, tenemus amores?

Heu, cli quantam hinc invidiam patimur!

Invidiam patiamur: habent sua sidera cli, Quaeque comunt tremulas crispa tot ora faces; Phbenque et Phoeb.u.m, et tot pictae vellera nubis, Vellera, quae rosea Sol variavit acu.

Quantum erat, ut sinerent hac una nos face ferri?

Una sit hic: sunt et sint ibi mille faces.

Nil agimus: nam tu quia non ascendis ad illum, Aether[85] descendit, Christe, vel ipse tibi.

??? ?t? ??te??? se, ???st?, ???e? t?? ???ta; ???a??? ??? ?ss?? t?? f????? ?? ???e??

???? ???e?. ??e? ?? ?? t? d' ????ata a????, ?st?a te ?a? F???? ?a? ?a?? t?? ?efe???.

?ss?? ???, ??? ?f?' e?? ?? t?de ?st???; ?st??? ?? ??? ?? e?s? t?? ?st?' ??at??.

???ta ?t??. ?t?, ???st?, s? ??? ???a??e? ?? a?t??, ??t?? ?? ?at?? ???a??? e?? s? te??.

_On the day of the Lord's ascension._

Still do we keep Thee here, O Christ, our Love?

Ah, envy much we gain from Heaven above!

But be it so: Heaven is with stars a-blaze, And countless...o...b.. that trick their tremulous rays: Moon, sun, and colour'd clouds, a fleecy store, By Evening's rosy touch embroider'd o'er.

'Twere little they should leave one light below: Let one be here, a thousand there may glow.

'Tis vain: since Thou ascendest not on high, To Thee, O Christ, descends the very sky. R. WI.

CLXXIX.

_Caecus implorat Christum._ Marc. x. 46-52.

Improba turba, tace. Mihi tam mea vota propinquant, Et linguam de me vis tacuisse meam?

Tunc ego tunc taceam, mihi c.u.m meus ille loquetur: Si nescis, oculos vox habet ista meos.

O noctis miserere meae, miserere; per illam In te quae primo riserit ore, diem.

O noctis miserere meae, miserere; per illam Quae, nisi te videat, nox velit esse, diem.

O noctis miserere meae, miserere; per illam In te quam fidei nox habet ipsa, diem.

Haec animi tam clara dies rogat illam oculorum: Illam, oro, dederis; hanc mihi ne rapias.

???t' ????s?? ???, ????s??. ?a? t?? ??e???, ???st?, ??? ?a?, ??? ?d' ?e?? ??e?.

?f?a??? ?? ??e???, Te??, d?eta? t?de ??????

?? ?? t??t' a????, d?? ?? ??e??? f???.[86]

_The blind man implores Christ._

Be silent, crowd: my prayers so near me come, And do you bid my pleading tongue be dumb, Before my Lord to me His speech addresses?

Know, then, that voice of His my eyes possesses.

Pity my night, Lord, pity; by that day Which smiled on me in Thee with earliest ray: Pity my night, Lord, pity; by that day Which if it sees Thee not, for night would pray: Pity my night, Lord, pity; by that day Which in faith's dimness fades not quite away.

My mind's clear day bids my eyes' day awake: This grant, O Lord, nor the other from me take. R. WI.

CLx.x.x.

_Quis ex vobis si habeat centum oves, et perdiderit unam ex illis, &c._ Luc. xv. 4.

O ut ego angelicis fiam bona gaudia turmis!

Me quoque solicito quaere per arva gradu.

Mille tibi tutis ludunt in montibus agni, Quos potes haud dubia dicere voce tuos.

Unus ego erravi, quo me meus error agebat; Unus ego fuerim gaudia plura tibi.

Gaudia non faciunt, quae nec fecere timorem; Et plus quae donant ipsa peric'la placent.

Horum quos retines fuerit tibi latior usus: De me quem recipis dulcior usus erit.