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The Restitution of Man. O Son, in whom my soul hath chief delight, Son of my bosom, Son who art alone My word, my wisdom, and effectual might, All hast thou spoken as my thoughts are, all As my eternal purpose hath decreed: Man shall not quite be lost, but saved who will; Yet not of will in him, but grace in me Freely vouchsafed ; once more I will renew His lapsed powers, though forfeit, and enthralled By sin to foul exorbitant desires; Upheld by me, yet once more he shall stand On even ground against his mortal foe; By me upheld, that he may know how frail His fallen condition is, and to me owe All his deliverance, and to none but me.


Twofold Hope.
Reflected on the lake, I love

To see the stars of evening glow,
So tranquil in the heaven above,

So restless in the wave below.

Thus heavenly hope is all serene ;

But earthly hope, how bright soe'er,
Still flutters o'er this changing scene,
As false, as fleeting, as 'tis fair.


Hominis Instauratio.

*Ω Τέκνον, αμής καρδίας τα φίλτατα,
αγαπητέ Τέκνον, δς μόνος πάντων έφυς
Σοφία Λόγος τε παντελής τισχύς έμή,
προσοδά μέν πάντ' είπας oις εφρόντισα
ξύμφωνα δ' οίς έγνωκ' απ' αιώνων επί
αιώνας άνθρωπος γάρ ου πανώλεθρος
πέπτωκεν, ήν δέ τις θέλη σωθήσεται»
ου μην θέλων μεν κείνος, αλλ' εμού χάριν
δωρουμένου σφιν. εξανορθώσω δ' έτι
κείνου μάλ' αύθις την παλίρροπον φύσιν,
κεί νυν πέπραται πάσα κάπιθυμιών
κλύει περισσών, ανομίας ήσσωμένη,
έμαϊς αρωγαίς κείνος αντιστήσεται
ήδη μάλ' αύθις ίσος ίσο το δυσμενεί
εμαΐς η αρωγαίς, ώς αν εξειδή μαθών
εις ην μετέστηκ' οιζύν, ως αμήχανος,
κάμoί γ' οφείλη παντελή τα ρύσια.

T. S. E.

Spes duplex.
Vespertina iuvat spectare lacustribus undis

Reddita siderei lumina mile chori:
Ut superum caeli decorent inmota lacunar,

Inqve tremant summis inreqvieta vadis.

Sic tranqvilla nitet spes caeli praescia: sed qvae

Ducit ab humanis spes alimenta bonis Inradiat fragilem mutanti lumine terram, Pulcra, sed ah species falsa, brevisqve nitor.




Unthinking, idle, wild, and young,
I laughed and danced, and talked and sung ;
And fond of health, of freedom vain,
Dreamed not of sorrow, care, or pain;
Concluding in those hours of glee
That all the world was made for me.

But when the hour of trial came,
And sickness shook this trembling frame;
When folly's gay pursuits were o'er,
And I could dance or sing no more ;
It then occurred, how sad 'twould be,
Were this world only made for me.


Sweet are the uses of Adversity.
I have been honoured and obeyed,

I have met scorn and slight;
And my heart loves earth's sober shade

More than her laughing light.
For what is rule but a sad weight

Of duty, and a snare?
What meanness, but with happier fate

The Saviour's cross to share ?
This my hid choice, though not from heaven,

Moves on the heavenward line;
Cleanse it, good Lord, from sinful leaven,
And make it simply thine.


Mutata Sententia.

Inconstans, hilaris, procax, vacabam
Choris, cantubus, omnibus cachinnis.
Libertatis amans, vigore laeta, et
Maerori medium nigrisqve curis
Ostentans digitum, superba dixi:
Haec est tota mihi creata tellus.

Sed qvom maestior ingruebat hora,
Qvom morbus tremulos gravabat artus,
Nec vano poteram vacare ludo,
Nec cantus renovare nec choreas,
Tum dixi fore triste, si creatum
Nil esset mihi, ni caduca tellus.


Res Adversae.

Imperio qvondam, quondam dignatus honore,

Mox idem opprobrio ludibrioqve fui:
Seriaqve in terris potior mihi vesperis umbra est

Qvam liqvida ridens ebria luce dies.
Qvid regnare tulit nisi pondus triste laboris

Retiaqve occultis insidiosa dolis ?
Et qvid pauperies ? Christi suspiria, Christi

Sortiri luctu cum leviore crucem.
Haec igitur, si non caelo demissa, voluntas

Me tamen haud dubia ducit ad astra via.
Hanc tu labe, Deus, turpiqve adspergine purga,
Et tibi qvae placeant omnia velle iube.


Psalm cxxxix. 1-7.

O Lord, thou hast searched me out, and known me:
Thou knowest my down-sitting and mine up-rising;
Thou understandest my thoughts long before.
Thou art about my path and about my bed,
And spiest out all my ways.
For lo there is not a word in my tongue,
But thou, O Lord, knowest it altogether.
Thou hast fashioned me behind and before,
And laid thine hand upon me.
Such knowledge is too wonderful and excellent for me:
I cannot attain unto it.
Whither shall I go then from thy Spirit,
Or whither shall I go from thy presence ?
If I climb up into heaven, thou art there:
If I go down to hell, thou art there also.


The misty clouds that fall sometime

And overcast the skies
Are like to troubles of our time,

Which do but dim our eyes.

But as such dews are dried up quite

When Phoebus shews his face,
So are sad fancies put to flight
When God doth guide by grace.


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