He may put forth his hand ’gainst such, as drive
Their traffic in that sanctuary, whose walls
With miracles and martyrdoms were built. 
     Ye host of heaven! whose glory I survey l
O beg ye grace for those, that are on earth
All after ill example gone astray. 
War once had for its instrument the sword: 
But now ’t is made, taking the bread away
Which the good Father locks from none. —­And thou,
That writes but to cancel, think, that they,
Who for the vineyard, which thou wastest, died,
Peter and Paul live yet, and mark thy doings. 
Thou hast good cause to cry, “My heart so cleaves
To him, that liv’d in solitude remote,
And from the wilds was dragg’d to martyrdom,
I wist not of the fisherman nor Paul.”

CANTO XIX

Before my sight appear’d, with open wings,
The beauteous image, in fruition sweet
Gladdening the thronged spirits.  Each did seem
A little ruby, whereon so intense
The sun-beam glow’d that to mine eyes it came
In clear refraction.  And that, which next
Befalls me to portray, voice hath not utter’d,
Nor hath ink written, nor in fantasy
Was e’er conceiv’d.  For I beheld and heard
The beak discourse; and, what intention form’d
Of many, singly as of one express,
Beginning:  “For that I was just and piteous,
l am exalted to this height of glory,
The which no wish exceeds:  and there on earth
Have I my memory left, e’en by the bad
Commended, while they leave its course untrod.” 
     Thus is one heat from many embers felt,
As in that image many were the loves,
And one the voice, that issued from them all. 
Whence I address them:  “O perennial flowers
Of gladness everlasting! that exhale
In single breath your odours manifold! 
Breathe now; and let the hunger be appeas’d,
That with great craving long hath held my soul,
Finding no food on earth.  This well I know,
That if there be in heav’n a realm, that shows
In faithful mirror the celestial Justice,
Yours without veil reflects it.  Ye discern
The heed, wherewith I do prepare myself
To hearken; ye the doubt that urges me
With such inveterate craving.”  Straight I saw,
Like to a falcon issuing from the hood,
That rears his head, and claps him with his wings,
His beauty and his eagerness bewraying. 
So saw I move that stately sign, with praise
Of grace divine inwoven and high song
Of inexpressive joy.  “He,” it began,
“Who turn’d his compass on the world’s extreme,
And in that space so variously hath wrought,
Both openly, and in secret, in such wise
Could not through all the universe display
Impression of his glory, that the Word
Of his omniscience should not still remain
In infinite excess.  In proof whereof,
He first through pride supplanted, who was sum
Of each created being, waited not