me far away
    From every thought that lures my soul from Thee! 
Yea, if at any hour, through grace of Thine,
    The fervent zeal of love and faith that cheer
    And fortify the soul, my heart assail. 
Since nought achieve these mortal powers of mine,
    Plant, like a saint in heaven, that virtue here;
    For, lacking Thee, all good must faint and fail.

LXXV.

HEART-COLDNESS.

Vorrei voler, Signior.

Fain would I wish what my heart cannot will: 
    Between it and the fire a veil of ice
    Deadens the fire, so that I deal in lies;
    My words and actions are discordant still. 
I love Thee with my tongue, then mourn my fill;
    For love warms not my heart, nor can I rise,
    Or ope the doors of Grace, who from the skies
    Might flood my soul, and pride and passion kill. 
Rend Thou the veil, dear Lord!  Break Thou that wall
    Which with its stubbornness retards the rays
    Of that bright sun this earth hath dulled for me! 
Send down Thy promised light to cheer and fall
    On Thy fair spouse, that I with love may blaze,
    And, free from doubt, my heart feel only Thee!

LXXVI.

THE DEATH OF CHRIST.

Non fur men lieti.

Not less elate than smitten with wild woe
    To see not them but Thee by death undone,
    Were those blest souls, when Thou above the sun
    Didst raise, by dying, men that lay so low: 
Elate, since freedom from all ills that flow
    From their first fault for Adam’s race was won;
    Sore smitten, since in torment fierce God’s son
    Served servants on the cruel cross below. 
Heaven showed she knew Thee, who Thou wert and whence,
    Veiling her eyes above the riven earth;
    The mountains trembled and the seas were troubled. 
He took the Fathers from hell’s darkness dense: 
    The torments of the damned fiends redoubled: 
    Man only joyed, who gained baptismal birth.

LXXVII.

THE BLOOD OF CHRIST.

Mentre m’ attrista.

Mid weariness and woe I find some cheer
    In thinking of the past, when I recall
    My weakness and my sins, and reckon all
    The vain expense of days that disappear: 
This cheers by making, ere I die, more clear
    The frailty of what men delight miscall;
    But saddens me to think how rarely fall
    God’s grace and mercies in life’s latest year. 
For though Thy promises our faith compel,
    Yet, Lord, what man shall venture to maintain
    That pity will condone our long neglect? 
Still from Thy blood poured forth we know full well
    How without measure was Thy martyr’s pain,
    How measureless the gifts we dare expect.