S. GREG. in Psal. vii. Pœnitent.

Sweet Jesus, the word of the Father, the brightness of paternal glory, whom angels delight to view, teach me to do thy will; that, led by thy good Spirit, I may come to that blessed city, where day is eternal, where there is certain security, and secure eternity; and eternal peace, and peaceful happiness; and happy sweetness, and sweet pleasure; where thou, O God, with the Father and the Holy Spirit, livest and reignest world without end.

Ibidem.

There is light without darkness; joy without grief; desire without punishment; love without sadness; satiety without loathing; safety without fear; health without disease; and life without death.

EPIG. 14.

My soul, pry not too nearly; the complexion
Of Sol's bright face is seen by the reflection:
But would'st thou know what's Heav'n? I'll tell
thee what:

Think what thou canst not think, and Heav'n is

that.

Make haste, my beloved, and be like the roe, or the young hart upon the mountains of spices.

Go, gentle tyrant, go; thy flames do pierce
My soul too deep; thy flames are too, too fierce :
My marrow melts, my fainting spirits fry

In th' torrid zone of thy meridian eye:

Away, away, thy sweets are too perfuming: Turn, turn thy face, thy fires are too consuming: Haste hence, and let thy winged steps outgo The frighted roebuck, and his flying roe.

But wilt thou leave me, then? O thou, that art
Life of my soul, soul of my dying heart,
Without the sweet aspect of whose fair eyes
My soul doth languish, and her solace dies?
Art thou so eas❜ly woo'd? so apt to hear
The frantic language of my foolish fear?

Leave, leave me not, nor turn thy beauty from me;

Look, look upon me, tho' thine eyes o'ercome me.

O how they wound! but how my wounds content me!

How sweetly these delightful pains torment me!
How am I tortur'd in excessive measure
Of pleasing cruelties! too cruel treasure!
Turn, turn away, remove thy scorching beams;
I languish with these bitter sweet extremes:
Haste then, and let thy winged steps outgo
The flying roebuck, and his frighted roe.

Turn back, my dear; O let my ravish'd eye
Once more behold thy face before thou fly;
What, shall we part without a mutual kiss?
O who can leave so sweet a face as this?
Look full upon me; for my soul desires
To turn a holy martyr in those fires:

O leave me not, nor turn thy beauty from me; Look, look upon me, though thy flames o'ercome

me.

If thou becloud the sunshine of thine eye,
I freeze to death; and if it shine, I fry;
Which, like a fever, that my soul hath got,
Makes me to burn too cold, or freeze too hot:
Alas! I cannot bear so sweet a smart,
Nor canst thou be less glorious than thou art.
Haste then, and let thy winged steps outgo
The frighted roebuck, and his flying roe.

But go not far beyond the reach of breath;
Too large a distance makes another death:
My youth is in her spring; autumnal vows
Will make me riper for so sweet a spouse;
When aftertimes have burnish'd my desire,
I'll shoot thee flames for flames, and fire for fire.
O leave me not, nor turn thy beauty from me;
Look, look upon me, though thy flames o'ercome

me.

Autor Scala Paradisi. Tom. ix. Aug. Cap. viii.

Fear not, O bride, nor despair; think not thyself contemned if thy Bridegroom withdraw his face awhile: all things cooperate for the best: both from his absence, and his presence, thou gainest light: he cometh to thee, and he goeth from thee: he cometh, to make thee consolate; he goeth to make thee cautious, lest thy abundant consolation puff thee up: he cometh, that thy languishing soul may be comforted; he goeth, lest his familiarity should be contemned; and being absent, to be more desired; and being desired, to be more earnestly sought; and being long sought, to be more acceptably found.

EPIG. 15.

My soul, sin's monster, whom with greater ease Ten thousand fold thy God could make than please, What would'st thou have? Nor pleas'd with sun nor shade?

Heav'n knows not what to make of what he made.