CUM lacrymas oculosque duos tot vulnera vincant,
Impar, et in fletum vel resolutus, ero;

Sepia concurrat, peccatis aptior humor,
Et mea jam lacrymet culpa colore suo.

Since my two eyes

To the dying Lord.

and utmost tears

Thy many wounds exceed;

Weeping will never match their worth,

I must dissolve indeed:

O let my ink together run,

Moisture of fitting hue;

And thus black tears for my black sins

These guilty cheeks imbue.

II.

In Sudorem sanguineum.

Quo fugies, sudor? quamvis pars altera Christi
Nescia sit metae, venula cella tua est.

G.

Si tibi non illud placeat mirabile corpus,
Caetera displiceat turba, necesse, tibi:
Ni me forte petas; nam quanto indignior ipse,
Tu mihi subveniens dignior esse potes.

On the bloody Sweat.

Whither wilt thou, O bloody sweat, now flee?
Though other parts of Christ unbounded be,
A vein is surely the fit home for thee.

And if His marvellous body please thee not,
I know no other more alluring spot

Amid the crowd of men stain'd with sin's blot.
Unless thou seekest me, unworthy me!

For succouring me most worthy thou shalt be.

III.

In eundem.

Sic tuus effundi gestit pro crimine sanguis,
Ut nequeat paulo se cohibere domi.

On the same.

Impatient for man's sin to be pour'd out, Thy blood E'en for a little while may not restrain its flood. G.

More freely.

So does Thy blood for sin exult to pour,
It can't itself restrain for one short hour,
But rains its awful shower.

G.

G.

IV.

In Latus perfossum.

Christe, ubi tam duro patet in te semita ferro,
Spero meo cordi posse patere viam.

On the pierced Side.

O Christ, where now a path I see
Made by the cruel spear,

For my poor heart a way to Thee
I trust will be kept clear.

V.

In Sputum et Convicia.

O barbaros! sic os rependitis sanctum,
Visum quod uni praebet, omnibus vitam,
Sputando, praedicando? sic Aquas Vitae
Contaminatis alveosque caelestes

Sputando, blasphemando? nempe ne hoc fiat
In posterum, maledicta Ficus, arescens
Gens tota fiet, atque utrinque plectetur.
Parate situlas, Ethnici, lagenasque
Graves lagenas, vester est Aquae-ductus.

On the Spittle and Revilings.

O barbarous ! e'en thus do ye requite
That holy mouth, which unto one gives sight,
And life to all, by spittle or His word?

Thus foully is the sacred fountain stirr'd?

G.

Dare ye the living waters thus defile,
And wantonly celestial stream-beds soil,
By your base spitting and wild blasphemy,
Commingl'd with that fierce rejecting cry?
Ah, lest such wickedness repeated be,
The Nation shall become a curs'd Fig-tree,
Withering away in wrath, on every side
Punish'd by Him Who as their Victim died.
Gentiles, bring vessels, bring great flagons; lo,
For you, and through you, shall the Water flow.

VI.

In Coronam spineam.

Christe, dolor tibi supplicio, mihi blanda voluptas;
Tu spina misere pungeris, ipse rosa.
Spicula mutemus: capias Tu serta rosarum,
Qui Caput es, spinas et tua membra tuas.

On the thorny Crown.

Grief is the source of suffering, Lord, to Thee;
Soft pleasure is its source to guilty me.

Thou, Lord, art pierced grievously with thorn;

I with a rose: Lord, look on me forlorn!

Exchange the points that pierce; take Thou, the Head, All roses; and Thy members thorns instead.

VII.

In Arund., Spin., Genufl., Purpur.

G.

Quam nihil illudis, Gens improba! quam male cedunt Scommata! Pastorem semper Arundo decet.

Quam nihil illudis ! cum quo magis angar acuto
Munere, Rex tanto verior inde prober.
Quam nihil illudis flectens! namque integra posthac
Posteritas flectet corque genuque mihi.
Quam nihil illudis! Si, quae tua purpura fingit,

Purpureo melius sanguine regna probem:

At non lusus erit, si quem tu laeta necasti
Vivat, et in mortem vita sit illa tuam.

On the Reed, Crown of Thorns, Bending the Knee, and
Purple Robe.

Vainly ye mock; your scoffs fly wide, vile race;
A Reed in Shepherd's hand finds fitting place:
Vainly ye mock; your pointed thorns may sting,
So much the more they prove Me a true King:
Vainly ye mock, bending; for unto ME

All times to come shall bend both heart and knee :
Vainly ye mock; if not with purple vest,
Yet purple blood, I claim My kingdom blest.
But if He lives Whom once in sport ye slew—
His life your death-'twill be no play to you!

VIII.

In Alapas.

Ah, quam caederis hinc et inde palmis !

Sic unguenta solent manu fricari;

Sic toti medicaris ipse mundo.

On the Buffetings.

R. WI.

They smite Thee, Lord, on all sides with their palms;

Thus men are wont to bruise Earth's precious balms :