Morte, stipendio della colpa.

O Death, the wage of our first father’s blame,
    Daughter of envy and nonentity,
    Serf of the serpent, and his harlotry,
    Thou beast most arrogant and void of shame! 
Thy last great conquest dost thou dare proclaim,
    Crying that all things are subdued to thee,
    Against the Almighty raised almightily?—­
    The proofs that prop thy pride of state are lame. 
Not to serve thee, but to make thee serve Him,
    He stoops to Hell.  The choice of arms was thine;
    Yet art thou scoffed at by the crucified! 
He lives—­thy loss.  He dies—­from every limb,
    Mangled by thee, lightnings of godhead shine,
    From which thy darkness hath not where to hide.

XIX.

ON THE SEPULCHRE OF CHRIST.

No.  I.

O tu ch’ ami la parte.

O you who love the part more than the whole,
    And love yourself more than all human kind,
    Who persecute good men with prudence blind
    Because they combat your malign control,
See Scribes and Pharisees, each impious school,
    Each sect profane, o’erthrown by his great mind,
    Whose best our good to Deity refined,
    The while they thought Death triumphed o’er his soul. 
Deem you that only you have thought and sense,
    While heaven and all its wonders, sun and earth,
    Scorned in your dullness, lack intelligence? 
Fool! what produced you?  These things gave you birth: 
    So have they mind and God.  Repent; be wise! 
    Man fights but ill with Him who rules the skies.

XX.

ON THE SEPULCHRE OF CHRIST.

No. 2.

Quinci impara a stupirti.

Here bend in boundless wonder; bow your head: 
    Think how God’s deathless Mind, that men might be
    Robed in celestial immortality
    (O Love divine!), in flesh was raimented: 
How He was killed and buried; from the dead
    How He arose to life with victory,
    And reigned in heaven; how all of us shall be
    Glorious like Him whose hearts to His are wed: 
How they who die for love of reason, give
    Hypocrites, tyrants, sophists—­all who sell
    Their neighbours ill for holiness—­to hell: 
How the dead saint condemns the bad who live;
    How all he does becomes a law for men;
    How he at last to judge shall come again!

XXI.

THE RESURRECTION.

Se sol sei ore.

If Christ was only six hours crucified
    After few years of toil and misery,
    Which for mankind He suffered willingly,
    While heaven was won for ever when He died;
Why should He still be shown on every side,
    Painted and preached, in nought