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S. AUGUST. Med. Cap. x.

If man can love man with so entire affection, that the one can scarce brook the other's absence; if a bride can be joined to her bridegroom with so great an ardency of mind, that for the extremity of love she can enjoy no rest, nor suffer his absence without great anxiety, with what affection, with what fervency ought the soul, whom thou hast espoused by faith and compassion, to love thee, her true GOD, and glorious bridegroom?

EPIG. 4.

My soul, thy love is dear: 'twas thought a good
And easy penn'worth of thy Saviour's blood:
But be not proud; all matters rightly scann'd,
'Twas over bought: 'twas sold at second hand.

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My soul melted whilst my beloved spake. LORD, has the feeble voice of flesh and blood The pow'r to work thine ears into a flood Of melted mercy? or the strength t' unlock The gates of Heav'n, and to dissolve a rock Of marble clouds into a morning show'r? Or hath the breath of whining dust the pow'r

S

To stop or snatch a falling thunderbolt

From thy fierce hand, and make thy hand revolt
From resolute confusion, and, instead

Of vials, pour full blessings on our head?
Or shall the want of famish'd ravens cry,
And move thy mercy to a quick supply?
Or shall the silent suits of drooping flow'rs
Woo thee for drops, and be refresh'd with show'rs?
Alas! what marvel then, great GOD, what wonder,
If thy hell-rousing voice, that splits in sunder
The brazen portals of eternal death;

What wonder if that life-restoring breath,
Which dragg'd me from th' infernal shades of night,
Should melt my ravish'd soul with o'er-delight?
O can my frozen gutters choose but run, ́
That feel the warmth of such a glorious sun?
Methinks his language, like a flaming arrow,
Doth pierce my bones, and melts their wounded

marrow.

Thy flames, O Cupid, (though the joyful heart
Feels neither tang of grief, nor fears the smart
Of jealous doubts, but drunk with full desires)
Are torments, weigh'd with these celestial fires;
Pleasures that ravish in so high a measure,
That O, I languish in excess of pleasure:
What ravish'd heart, that feels these melting joys,
Would not despise and loathe the treach'rous toys
Of dunghill earth? what soul would not be proud
Of wry-mouth'd scorns, the worst that flesh and

blood

Had rancour to devise? who would not bear
The world's derision with a thankful ear?
What palate would refuse full bowls of spite
To gain a minute's taste of such delight?
Great spring of light, in whom there is no shade
But what my interposed sins have made;
Whose marrow-melting fires admit no screen
But what my own rebellions put between
Their precious flames and my obdurate ear;
Disperse this plague-distilling cloud, and clear
My mungy soul into a glorious day:

Transplant this screen, remove this bar away;
Then, then my fluent soul shall feel the fires
Of thy sweet voice, and my dissolv'd desires
Shall turn a sov'reign balsam, to make whole
Those wounds my sins inflicted on thy soul.

S. AUGUST. Soliloq. Cap. xxxiv.

What fire is this that so warmeth my heart? what light is this that so enlighteneth my soul? O fire! that always burneth, and never goeth out, kindle me: O light, which ever shineth, and art never darkened, illuminate me: O that I had my heat from thee, most holy fire! how sweetly dost thou burn! how secretly dost thou shine! how desiredly dost thou inflame me !

S. BONAVENT. Stim. Amoris. Cap. viii.

It maketh GOD man, and man GoD; things temporal, eternal; mortal, immortal; it maketh an enemy, a friend; a servant, a son; vile things, glorious; cold hearts, fiery; and hard things, liquid.

EPIG. 5.

My soul, thy gold is true, but full of dross;
Thy Saviour's breath refines thee with some loss;
His gentle furnace makes thee pure as true;
Thou must be melted ere th' art cast anew.

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