S. BONAVENT. Soliloq. Cap. i. Ah! sweet Jesus, pierce the marrow of my soul with the healthful shafts of thy love, that it may truly burn and melt, and languish, with the only desire of thee; that it may desire to be dissolved, and to be with thee: let it hunger alone for the bread of life: let it thirst after thee, the spring and fountain of eternal light, the stream of true pleasure: let it always desire thee, seek thee, and find thee, and sweetly rest in thee. EPIG. 9. What, will thy shackles neither loose nor break? Are they too strong, or is thine arm too weak? Art will prevail where knotty strength denies; My soul, there's aquafortis in thine eyes. Bring my soul out of prison, that I may praise thy name. My soul is like a bird, my flesh the cage, With sacred wine and sacramental bread; The keys that lock her in and let her out, Are birth and death; 'twixt both she hops about From sense she climbs to faith; where for a season Whilst I, poor I, can sing my daily tears, To recommend my sorrows, dearly known ANSELM. in Protolog. Cap. i. O miserable condition of mankind, that has lost that for which he was created! alas! what hath he lost? and what hath he found? he hath lost happiness for which he was made: and found misery for which he was not made: what is gone? and what is left? that thing is gone, without which he is unhappy; that thing is left, by which he is miserable: O wretched men! from whence are we expelled? to what are we impelled? whence are we thrown? and whither are we hurried? from our home into banishment; from the sight of GOD into our own blindness; from the pleasure of immortality to the bitterness of death: miserable change! from how great a good, to how great an evil! ah me! what have I enterprised? what have I done? whither did I go? whither am I come? EPIG. 10. Paul's midnight voice prevail'd; his music's thunder Unhing'd the prison-doors, split bolts in sunder: And sitt'st thou here, and hang'st the feeble wing? And whin'st to be enlarg'd? soul, learn to sing. |