Larkin Poems for the New Year

Bridge for the Living

(The words of a cantata composed by Anthony Hedges to celebrate the opening of Humber Bridge, first performed at the City Hall in Hull on 11 April 1981)

Isolate city spread alongside water,

Posted with white towers, she keeps her face
Half-turned to Europe, lonely northern daughter,
Holding through centuries her separate place.

Behind her domes and cranes enormous skies

Of gold and shadows build; a filigree

Of wharves and wires, ricks and refineries,

Her working skyline wanders to the sea.

In her remote three-cornered hinterland

Long white-flowered lanes follow the riverside.

The hills bend slowly seaward, plain gulls stand,

Sharp fox and brilliant pheasant walk, and wide

Wind-muscled wheatfields wash round villages,

Their churches half-submerged in leaf. They lie

Drowned in high summer, cartways and cottages,

The soft huge haze of ash-blue sea close by.

Snow-thickened winter days are yet more still:
Farms fold in fields, their single lamps come on
Tall church-towers parley, airily audible,
Howden and Beverly, Hedon and Patrington,

While scattered on steep seas, ice-crusted ships
Like errant birds carry her loneliness,
A lighted memory no miles eclipse,
A harbour for the heart against distress.

*

And now this stride in our solitude,
A swallow-fall and rise of one plain line,
A giant step for ever to include

All our dear landscape in a new design.

The winds play on it like a harp; the song,
Sharp from the east, sun-throated from the west,
Will never to one separate shire belong,
But north and south make union manifest.

Lost centuries of local lives that rose
And flowered to fall short where they began

Seem now to reassemble and unclose,

All resurrected in this single span,

Reaching for the world, as our lives do,
As all lives do, reaching that we may give

The best of what we are and hold as true:
Always it is by bridges that we live.

According to Wikipedia, “The Humber Bridge, near Kingston upon Hull, England, is a 2,220-metre (7,280 ft) single-span suspension bridge, which opened to traffic on 24 June 1981. It was the longest of its type in the world when opened, and is now the eighth-longest. It spans the Humber (the estuary formed by the rivers Trent and Ouse) between Barton-upon-Humber on the south bank and Hessle on the north bank, connecting the East Riding of Yorkshire and North Lincolnshire. When it opened in 1981 both sides of the bridge were in the non-metropolitan county of Humberside until its dissolution in 1996. The bridge itself can be seen for miles around and as far as Patrington in the East Riding of Yorkshire. As of 2006, the bridge carried an average of 120,000 vehicles per week.”

MCMXIV

Those long uneven lines
Standing as patiently

As if they were stretched outside

The Oval or Villa Park,

The crowns of hats, the sun
On moustached archaic faces

Grinning as if it were all

An August Bank Holiday lark;

And the shut shops, the bleached

Established names on the sunblinds,

The farthings and sovereigns,

And the dark-clothed children at play

Called after kings and queens,

The tin advertisements

For cocoa and twist, and the pubs

Wide open all day;

And the countryside not caring:

The place-names all hazed over

With flowering grasses, and fields

Shadowing Domesday lines

Under wheat's restless silence;

The differently dressed servants

With tiny rooms in huge houses,

The dust behind limousines;

Never such innocence,

Never before or since,

As changed itself to past

Without a word—the men

Leaving the gradens tidy,

The thousands of marriages

Lasting a little while longer:
Never such innocence again.

New Eyes Each Year

New eyes each year

Find old books here,
And new books, too,

Old eyes renew;
So youth and age

Like ink and page

In this house join,
Minting new coin.

The Mower

The mower stalled, twice; kneeling, I found
A hedgehog jammed up against the blades,
Killed. It had been in the long grass.

I had seen it before, and even fed it, once.

Now I had mauled its unobtrusive world
Unmendably. Burial was no help:

Next morning I got up and it did not.
The first day after a death, the new absence

Is always the same; we should be careful

Of each other, we should be kind
While there is still time.

Street Lamps

When night slinks, like a puma, down the sky

    And the bare windy streets echo with silence,
Street lamps come out, and lean at corners, awry,

    Casting black shadows, oblique and intense;
So they burn on, impersonal, through the night,

    Hearing the hours slowly topple past

Like cold drops from a glistening stalactite,
    Until grey planes splinter the gloom at last;

Then they go out.

                                 I think I noticed once

    —'Twas morning—one sole street-lamp still bright-lit,

Which, like a senile grin, like an old dunce,

    Vied with the blue sky, and tried to rival it;

And, leering pallid though its use was done,

    Tried to cast shadows contrary to the sun.

Night-Music

At one the wind rose,
And with it the noise,
Of the black poplars.

Long since had the living

By a thin twine

Been led into their dreams

Where lanterns shine

Under a still veil

Of falling streams;

Long since had the dead

Become untroubled

In the light soil.
There were no mouths

To drink of the wind,

Nor any eyes

To sharpen on the stars'

Wide heaven-holding,

Only the sound

Long sibilant-muscled trees

Were lifting up, the black poplars.

And in their blazing solitude

The stars sang in their sockets through the night:
'Blow bright, blow bright

The coal of this unquickened world.'

Absences

Rain patters on a sea that tilts and sighs.

Fast-running floors, collapsing into hollows,
Tower suddenly, spray-haired. Contrariwise,

A wave drops like a wall: another follows,
Wilting and scrambling, tirelessly at play

Where there are no ships and no shallows.

Above the sea, the yet more shoreless day,

Riddled by wind, trails lit-up galleries:
They shift to giant ribbing, sift away.

Such attics cleared of me! Such absences!

Pigeons

On shallow slates the pigeons shift together,

Backing against a thin rain from the west
Blown across each sunk head and settled feather.

Huddling round the warm stack suits them best,

Till winter daylight weakens, and they grow

Hardly defined against the brickwork. Soon,

Light from a small intense lopsided moon
Shows them, black as their shadows, sleeping so.

Midwinter Waking

Paw there. Snout there as well. Mustiness. Mould.
Darkness; a desire to stretch, to scratch.

Then has the— ? Then is it the—? Nudge the thatch,

Displace the stiffened leaves: look out. How cold,

How dried a stillness. Like a blade on stone,

A wind is scraping, first this way, then that.

Morning, perhaps; but not a proper one.
Turn. Sleep will unshell us, but not yet.

'When first we faced, and touching, showed'

When first we faced, and touching, showed

How well we knew the early moves,
Behind the moonlight and the frost,

The excitement and the gratitude,

There stood how much our meeting owed

To other meetings, other loves.

The decades of a different life

That opened past your inch-close eyes

Belonged to others, lavished, lost;

Nor could I hold you hard enough

To call my years of hunger-strife

Back for your mouth to colonise.

Admitted: and the pain is real.
But when did love not try to change

The world back to itself—no cost,

No past, no people else at all—
Only what meeting made us feel,
So new, and gentle-sharp, and strange?

New Year Poem

The short afternoon ends, and the year is over;
Above trees at the end of the garden the sky is unchanged,

An endless sky; and the wet streets, as ever,

Between standing houses are empty and unchallenged.

From roads where men go home I walk apart

—The buses bearing their loads away from works,

Through the dusk the bicycles coming home from bricks—

There evening like a derelict lorry is alone and mute.

These houses stand deserted, felt over smashed windows,

No milk on the step, a note pinned to the door

Telling of departure: only shadows

Move when in the day the sun is seen for an hour,

Yet to me this decaying landscape has its uses:

To make me remember, who am always inclined to forget,

That there is always a changing at the root,

And a real world in which time really passes.

For even together, outside this shattered city

And its obvious message, if we had lived in that peace

Where the enormous years pass over lightly

—Yes, even there, if I looked into your face

Expecting a word or a laugh on the old conditions,

It would not be a friend who met my eye,

Only a stranger would smile and turn away,

Not one of the two who first performed these actions.

For sometimes it is shown to me in dreams

The Eden that all wish to recreate

Out of their living, from their favourite times;

The miraculous play where all their dead take part,

Once more articulate; or the distant ones
They will never forget because of an autumn talk

By a railway, an occasional glimpse in a public park,
Any memory for the most part depending on chance.

And seeing this through that I know that to be wrong,
Knowing by the flower the root that seemed so harmless

Dangerous; and all must take their warning

From these brief dreams of unsuccessful charms,

Their aloof visions of delight, where Desire

And Fear work hand-in-glove like medicals

To produce the same results. The bells

That we used to await will not be rung this year,

So it is better to sleep and leave the bottle unopened;

Tomorrow in the offices the year on the stamps will be altered;

Tomorrow new diaries consulted, new calendars stand;

With such small adjustments life will again move forward

Implicating us all; and the voice of the living be heard:
'It is to us that you should turn your straying attention;

Us who need you, and are affected by your fortune;
Us you should love and to whom you should give your word.'

     (31 December 1940)

To the Sea

To step over the low wall that divides

Road from concrete walk above the shore

Brings sharply back something known long before—

The miniature gaiety of seasides.

Everything crowds under the low horizon:
Steep beach, blue water, towels, red bathing caps,

The small hushed waves' repeated fresh collapse

Up the warm yellow sand, and further off

A white steamer stuck in the afternoon—

Still going on, all of it, still going on!

To lie, eat, sleep in hearing of the surf

(Ears to transistors, that sound tame enough

Under the sky), or gently up and down

Lead the uncertain children, frilled in white

And grasping at enormous air, or wheel

The rigid old along for them to feel

A final summer, plainly still occurs

As half an annual pleasure, half a rite,

As when, happy at being on my own,

I searched the sand for Famous Cricketers,

Or farther back, my parents, listeners

To the same clear water over smoothed pebbles,

The distant bathers' weak protesting trebles

Down at its edge, and then the cheap cigars,

The chocolate-papers, tea-leaves, and, between

The rocks, the rusting soup-tins, till the first

Few families start the trek back to the cars.

The white steamer has gone. Like breathed-on glass

The sunlight has turned milky. If the worst

Of flawless weather is our falling short,

It may be that through habit these do best,

Coming to water clumsily undressed

Yearly; teaching their children by a sort

Of clowning; helping the old, too, as they ought.

The Whitsun Weddings

That Whitsun, I was late getting away:

     Not till about

One-twenty on the sunlit Saturday

Did my three-quarters-empty train pull out,

All windows down, all cushions hot, all sense

Of being in a hurry gone. We ran

Behind the backs of houses, crossed a street

Of blinding windscreens, smelt the fish-dock; thence

The river’s level drifting breadth began,

Where sky and Lincolnshire and water meet.

All afternoon, through the tall heat that slept

     For miles inland,

A slow and stopping curve southwards we kept.

Wide farms went by, short-shadowed cattle, and

Canals with floatings of industrial froth;

A hothouse flashed uniquely: hedges dipped

And rose: and now and then a smell of grass

Displaced the reek of buttoned carriage-cloth

Until the next town, new and nondescript,

Approached with acres of dismantled cars.

At first, I didn’t notice what a noise

     The weddings made

Each station that we stopped at: sun destroys

The interest of what’s happening in the shade,

And down the long cool platforms whoops and skirls

I took for porters larking with the mails,

And went on reading. Once we started, though,

We passed them, grinning and pomaded, girls

In parodies of fashion, heels and veils,

All posed irresolutely, watching us go,

As if out on the end of an event

     Waving goodbye

To something that survived it. Struck, I leant

More promptly out next time, more curiously,

And saw it all again in different terms:

The fathers with broad belts under their suits

And seamy foreheads; mothers loud and fat;

An uncle shouting smut; and then the perms,

The nylon gloves and jewellery-substitutes,

The lemons, mauves, and olive-ochres that

Marked off the girls unreally from the rest.

     Yes, from cafes

And banquet-halls up yards, and bunting-dressed

Coach-party annexes, the wedding-days

Were coming to an end. All down the line

Fresh couples climbed aboard: the rest stood round;

The last confetti and advice were thrown,

And, as we moved, each face seemed to define

Just what it saw departing: children frowned

At something dull; fathers had never known

Success so huge and wholly farcical;

     The women shared

The secret like a happy funeral;

While girls, gripping their handbags tighter, stared

At a religious wounding. Free at last,

And loaded with the sum of all they saw,

We hurried towards London, shuffling gouts of steam.

Now fields were building-plots, and poplars cast

Long shadows over major roads, and for

Some fifty minutes, that in time would seem

Just long enough to settle hats and say

     I nearly died,

A dozen marriages got under way.

They watched the landscape, sitting side by side

—An Odeon went past, a cooling tower,

And someone running up to bowl—and none

Thought of the others they would never meet

Or how their lives would all contain this hour.

I thought of London spread out in the sun,

Its postal districts packed like squares of wheat:

There we were aimed. And as we raced across

     Bright knots of rail

Past standing Pullmans, walls of blackened moss

Came close, and it was nearly done, this frail

Travelling coincidence; and what it held

Stood ready to be loosed with all the power

That being changed can give. We slowed again,

And as the tightened brakes took hold, there swelled

A sense of falling, like an arrow-shower

Sent out of sight, somewhere becoming rain.

The Great Antiphon for December 22, O Rex Gentium

 O Rex gentium, et desideratus earum, lapisque angularis, qui facis utraque unum: veni, et salva hominem, quem de limo formasti.

"And the angel of the LORD called unto Abraham out of heaven the second time, And said, By myself have I sworn, saith the LORD, for because thou hast done this thing, and hast not withheld thy son, thine only son: That in blessing I will bless thee, and in multiplying I will multiply thy seed as the stars of the heaven, and as the sand which is upon the sea shore; and thy seed shall possess the gate of his enemies; And in thy seed shall all the nations of the earth be blessed; because thou hast obeyed my voice."

"And it shall come to pass in the last days, that the mountain of the LORD'S house shall be established in the top of the mountains, and shall be exalted above the hills; and all nations shall flow unto it. And many people shall go and say, Come ye, and let us go up to the mountain of the LORD, to the house of the God of Jacob; and he will teach us of his ways, and we will walk in his paths: for out of Zion shall go forth the law, and the word of the LORD from Jerusalem. And he shall judge among the nations, and shall rebuke many people: and they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruninghooks: nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more. O house of Jacob, come ye, and let us walk in the light of the LORD."

"Now when Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judaea in the days of Herod the king, behold, there came wise men from the east to Jerusalem, Saying, Where is he that is born King of the Jews? for we have seen his star in the east, and are come to worship him."

"Then Paul stood in the midst of Mars' hill, and said, Ye men of Athens, I perceive that in all things ye are too superstitious. For as I passed by, and beheld your devotions, I found an altar with this inscription, To The Unknown God. Whom therefore ye ignorantly worship, him declare I unto you. God that made the world and all things therein, seeing that he is Lord of heaven and earth, dwelleth not in temples made with hands; Neither is worshipped with men's hands, as though he needed any thing, seeing he giveth to all life, and breath, and all things; And hath made of one blood all nations of men for to dwell on all the face of the earth, and hath determined the times before appointed, and the bounds of their habitation; That they should seek the Lord, if haply they might feel after him, and find him, though he be not far from every one of us: For in him we live, and move, and have our being; as certain also of your own poets have said, For we are also his offspring. Forasmuch then as we are the offspring of God, we ought not to think that the Godhead is like unto gold, or silver, or stone, graven by art and man's device. And the times of this ignorance God winked at; but now commandeth all men every where to repent: Because he hath appointed a day, in the which he will judge the world in righteousness by that man whom he hath ordained; whereof he hath given assurance unto all men, in that he hath raised him from the dead."

"And when Jesus was entered into Capernaum, there came unto him a centurion, beseeching him, And saying, Lord, my servant lieth at home sick of the palsy, grievously tormented. And Jesus saith unto him, I will come and heal him. The centurion answered and said, Lord, I am not worthy that thou shouldest come under my roof: but speak the word only, and my servant shall be healed. For I am a man under authority, having soldiers under me: and I say to this man, Go, and he goeth; and to another, Come, and he cometh; and to my servant, Do this, and he doeth it. When Jesus heard it, he marvelled, and said to them that followed, Verily I say unto you, I have not found so great faith, no, not in Israel. And I say unto you, That many shall come from the east and west, and shall sit down with Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, in the kingdom of heaven. But the children of the kingdom shall be cast out into outer darkness: there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth. And Jesus said unto the centurion, Go thy way; and as thou hast believed, so be it done unto thee. And his servant was healed in the selfsame hour."

"I say then, Have the sons of Israel stumbled that they should fall? God forbid: but rather through their fall salvation is come unto the Gentiles, for to provoke them to jealousy. Now if the fall of them be the riches of the world, and the diminishing of them the riches of the Gentiles; how much more their fulness? For I speak to you Gentiles, inasmuch as I am the apostle of the Gentiles, I magnify mine office: If by any means I may provoke to emulation them which are my flesh, and might save some of them. For if the casting away of them be the reconciling of the world, what shall the receiving of them be, but life from the dead? For if the firstfruit be holy, the lump is also holy: and if the root be holy, so are the branches.

"And if some of the branches be broken off, and thou, being a wild olive tree, wert graffed in among them, and with them partakest of the root and fatness of the olive tree; Boast not against the branches. But if thou boast, thou bearest not the root, but the root thee. Thou wilt say then, The branches were broken off, that I might be graffed in. Well; because of unbelief they were broken off, and thou standest by faith. Be not highminded, but fear: For if God spared not the natural branches, take heed lest he also spare not thee. Behold therefore the goodness and severity of God: on them which fell, severity; but toward thee, goodness, if thou continue in his goodness: otherwise thou also shalt be cut off. And they also, if they abide not still in unbelief, shall be graffed in: for God is able to graff them in again. For if thou wert cut out of the olive tree which is wild by nature, and wert graffed contrary to nature into a good olive tree: how much more shall these, which be the natural branches, be graffed into their own olive tree?"

"Now therefore ye are no more strangers and foreigners, but fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of God; And are built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Jesus Christ himself being the chief corner stone; In whom all the building fitly framed together groweth unto an holy temple in the Lord: In whom ye also are builded together for an habitation of God through the Spirit."

"Wherefore remember, that ye being in time past Gentiles in the flesh, who are called Uncircumcision by that which is called the Circumcision in the flesh made by hands; That at that time ye were without Christ, being aliens from the commonwealth of Israel, and strangers from the covenants of promise, having no hope, and without God in the world: But now in Christ Jesus ye who sometimes were far off are made nigh by the blood of Christ. For he is our peace, who hath made both one, and hath broken down the middle wall of partition between us; Having abolished in his flesh the enmity, even the law of commandments contained in ordinances; for to make in himself of twain one new man, so making peace; And that he might reconcile both unto God in one body by the cross, having slain the enmity thereby: And came and preached peace to you which were afar off, and to them that were nigh. For through him we both have access by one Spirit unto the Father."

Milton's Satan on Thanksgiving

Milton's Satan on Thanksgiving (Paradise Lost Book IV.42-57)

"... / Ah wherefore! he deservd no such return
From me, whom he created what I was
In that bright eminence, and with his good
Upbraided none; nor was his service hard.
What could be less then to afford him praise,
The easiest recompence, and pay him thanks,
How due! yet all his good prov'd ill in me,
And wrought but malice; lifted up so high
I sdeind subjection, and thought one step higher
Would set me highest, and in a moment quit
The debt immense of endless gratitude,
So burthensome, still paying, still to ow;
Forgetful what from him I still receivd,
And understood not that a grateful mind
By owing owes not, but still pays, at once
Indebted and dischargd; what burden then?/ ..."

Snow Poems by Thomas Hardy

Snow in the Suburbs

Every branch big with it,

Bent every twig with it;

Every fork like a white web-foot;

Every street and pavement mute:

Some flakes have lost their way, and grope back upward, when

Meeting those meandering down they turn and descend again.

The palings are glued together like a wall,

And there is no waft of wind with the fleecy fall.

A sparrow enters the tree,

Whereon immediately

A snow-lump thrice his own slight size

Descends on him and showers his head and eyes,

And overturns him,

And near inurns him,

And lights on a nether twig, when its brush

Starts off a volley of other lodging lumps with a rush.

The steps are a blanched slope,

Up which, with feeble hope,

A black cat comes, wide-eyed and thin;

And we take him in.

A Light Snow-Fall after Frost

On the flat road a man at last appears:

How much his whitening hairs

Owe to the settling snow’s mute anchorage,

And how much to a life’s rough pilgrimage,

One cannot certify.

The frost is on the wane,

And cobwebs hanging close outside the pane

Pose as festoons of thick white worsted there,

Of their pale presence no eye being aware

Till the rime made them plain.

A second man comes by;

His ruddy beard brings fire to the pallid scene:

His coat is faded green;

Hence seems it that his mien

Wears something of the dye

Of the berried holm-trees that he passes nigh.

The snow-feathers so gently swoop that though

But half an hour ago

The road was brown, and now is starkly white,

A watcher would have failed defining quite

When it transformed it so.

(Near Surbiton)

Winter Night in Woodland

(Old Time)

The bark of a fox rings, sonorous and long: –

Three barks, and then silentness; ‘wong, wong, wong!’

In quality horn-like, yet melancholy,

As from teachings of years; for an old one is he.

The hand of all men is against him, he knows; and yet, why?

That he knows not, – will never know, down to his death-halloo cry.

With clap-nets and lanterns off start the bird-baiters,

In trim to make raids on the roosts in the copse,

Where they beat the boughs artfully, while their awaiters

Grow heavy at home over divers warm drops.

The poachers, with swingels, and matches of brimstone, outcreep

To steal upon pheasants and drowse them a-perch and asleep.

Out there, on the verge, where a path wavers through,

Dark figures, filed singly, thrid quickly the view,

Yet heavily laden: land-carriers are they

In the hire of the smugglers from some nearest bay.

Each bears his two ‘tubs’, slung across, one in front, one behind,

To a further snug hiding, which none but themselves are to find.

And then, when the night has turned twelve the air brings

From dim distance, a rhythm of voices and strings:

’Tis the quire, just afoot on their long yearly rounds,

To rouse by worn carols each house in their bounds;

Robert Penny, the Dewys, Mail, Voss, and the rest; till anon

Tired and thirsty, but cheerful, they home to their beds in the dawn.

Ice on the Highway

Seven buxom women abreast, and arm in arm,

Trudge down the hill, tip-toed,

And breathing warm;

They must perforce trudge thus, to keep upright

On the glassy ice-bound road,

And they must get to market whether or no,

Provisions running low

With the nearing Saturday night,

While the lumbering van wherein they mostly ride

Can nowise go:

Yet loud their laughter as they stagger and slide!

(Yell’ham Hill)

The Aqueduct, Bernard of Clairvaux on the Feast of the Nativity of Mary

In Nativitate B. V. Mariae Sermo. De aquaeductu. 1. Fecundae Virginis amplectitur coelum praesentiam, terra memoriam veneratur. Sic nimirum totius boni illic exhibitio, hic recordatio invenitur; ibi satietas, hic tenuis quaedam libatio primitiarum; ibi res, et hic nomen. Domine, inquit, nomen tuum in aeternum, et memoriale tuum in generatione et generationem (Psal. CI, 13). Generatio et generatio, non angelorum profecto, sed hominum est. Vis scire quia nomen et memoriale ejus in nobis est, praesentia in excelso? Sic orabitis, inquit: Pater noster qui es in coelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum (Matth. VI, 9). Fidelis oratio, cujus ipsa primordia et divinae adoptionis, et terrenae peregrinationis admoneant: ut hoc scientes, quod quandiu non sumus in coelo, peregrinamur a Domino, gemamus intra nosmetipsos, adoptionem filiorum exspectantes, praesentiam utique Patris. Signanter proinde et de Christo propheta loquitur, dicens: Spiritus ante faciem nostram Christus Dominus: in umbra ejus vivemus inter gentes (Thren. IV, 20). Nam inter coelestes quidem beatitudines non in umbra vivitur, sed potius in splendore. In splendoribus sanctorum, inquit, ex utero ante luciferum genui te (Psal. CIX, 3). Verum id quidem Pater. 2. At mater sane eumdem ipsum in splendore non genuit, sed in umbra, nonnisi ea tamen, qua obumbravit Altissimus. Merito proinde canit Ecclesia, non illa quidem Ecclesia sanctorum, quae in excelsis et in splendore est, sed quae interim peregrinatur in terris: Sub umbra ejus quem desideraveram sedi, et fructus ejus dulcis gutturi meo (Cant. II, 3). Lucem quippe meridianam, ubi pascit sponsus, sibi petierat indicari: sed repressa est, et pro plenitudine luminis umbram, pro satietate interim gustum recepit. Denique non ait: Sub umbra ejus quam desideraveram; sed: Sub umbra ejus quem desideraveram sedi. Neque enim ipsius expetierat umbram, sed ipsum profecto meridiem, lumen plenum de lumine pleno. Et fructus ejus, ait, dulcis gutturi meo: ac si dicat, gustui meo. Usquequo non parcis mihi, nec dimittis me, ut glutiam salivam meam? Quousque manet illa sententia: Gustate et videte quoniam suavis est Dominus? (Psal. XXXIII, 9.) Et quidem suavis gustui, et dulcis gutturi, ut merito etiam super hoc sponsa proruperit in vocem gratiarum actionis et laudis. 3. Sed quando dicetur: Comedite, amici, et bibite; et inebriamini, charissimi? (Cant. V, 1.) Justi epulentur, ait Propheta, sed in conspectu Dei (Psal. LXVII, 4), utique non in umbra. Et de se ipso: Satiabor, ait, cum apparuerit gloria tua (Psal. XVI, 15). Sed et Dominus ad apostolos ait: Vos estis qui permansistis mecum in tentationibus meis; et ego dispono vobis, sicut disposuit mihi Pater meus regnum, ut edatis et bibatis super mensam meam (Luc. XXII, 28 30). Sed ubi? In regno meo, inquit. Beatus plane qui manducabit panem in regno Dei. Sanctificetur itaque nomen tuum, per quod utcunque interim in nobis es, Domine, per fidem in cordibus habitans, quoniam nomen tuum jam invocatum est super nos. Adveniat regnum tuum. Veniat utique quod perfectum est, et evacuetur quod est ex parte. Habetis, ait Apostolus,fructum vestrum in sanctificationem, finem vero vitam aeternam (Rom. VI, 22). Vita aeterna, fons indeficiens, qui universam irrigat superficiem paradisi. Nec modo irrigat, sed inebriat, fons hortorum, puteus aquarum viventium, quae fluunt impetu de Libano: et fluminis impetus laetificat civitatem Dei. Quis vero fons vitae, nisi Christus Dominus? Cum Christus, inquit, apparuerit vita vestra, tunc et vos apparebitis cum ipso in gloria (Coloss. III, 4). Sane ipsa sese plenitudo exinanivit, ut fieret nobis justitia, et sanctificatio, et remissio; necdum apparens vita, aut gloria, aut beatitudo. Derivatus est fons usque ad nos, in plateis derivatae sunt aquae, licet non bibat alienus ex eis (Prov. V, 16, 17). Descendit per aquaeductum vena illa coelestis, non tamen fontis exhibens copiam, sed stillicidia gratiae arentibus cordibus nostris infundens, aliis quidem plus, aliis minus. Plenus equidem aquaeductus, ut accipiant caeteri de plenitudine, sed non plenitudinem ipsam. 4. Advertistis jam, ni fallor, quem velim dicere aquaeductum, qui plenitudinem fontis ipsius de corde Patris excipiens, nobis edidit illum, si non prout est, saltem prout capere poteramus. Nostis enim cui dictum sit: Ave, gratia plena. An vero inveniri potuisse miramur, unde talis ac tantus fieret aquaeductus, cujus nimirum summitas, instar profecto scalae illius quam vidit patriarcha Jacob, coelos tangeret (Gen. XXVIII, 12), imo et transcenderet coelos, et vividissimum istum aquarum, quae super coelos sunt, posset attingere fontem? Mirabatur et Salomon, et velut desperanti similis aiebat: Mulierem fortem quis inveniet? (Prov. XXXI, 10.) Nimirum propterea tanto tempore humano generi fluenta gratiae defuerunt, quod necdum intercederet is, de quo loquimur, tam desiderabilis aquaeductus. Nec mirabere diutius exspectatum, si recordaris, quot annis Noe, vir justus, in arcae fabrica laborarit, in qua paucae, id est octo animae, salvae factae sunt, idque satis ad modicum tempus. 5. Sed quomodo noster hic aquaeductus fontem illum attigit tam sublimem? Quomodo putas, nisi vehementia desiderii, nisi fervore devotionis, nisi puritate orationis? sicut scriptum est: Oratio justi penetrat coelos (Eccli. XXXV, 21). Et quis justus, si non Maria justa, de qua sol justitiae ortus est nobis? Quomodo ergo illa inaccessam attigit majestatem, nisi pulsando, petendo, quaerendo? Denique et quod quaerebat invenit, cui dictum est: Invenisti gratiam apud Deum (Luc. I, 30). Quid? plena est gratia, et gratiam adhuc invenit? Digna prorsus invenire quod quaerit, cui propria non sufficit plenitudo, nec suo potest esse contenta bono; sed, quemadmodum scriptum est: Qui bibit me, adhuc sitiet (Eccli. XXIV, 29); petit supereffluentiam ad salutem universitatis. Spiritus sanctus, ait, superveniet in te (Luc. I, 35), et pretiosum illud balsamum tanta tibi copia, tantaque plenitudine influet, ut copiosissime effluat. circumquaque. Ita est: jam sentimus, jam exhilarantur facies nostrae in oleo. Jam clamamus: Oleum effusum nomen tuum, et memoriale tuum in generatione et generationem. Verum id quidem non in vanum: et si oleum effunditur, sed non perit. Propterea siquidem et adolescentulae, parvulae scilicet animae, sponsum diligunt (Cant. I, 2), idque non parum; et unguentum descendens de capite, non modo barba, sed et ipsa vestimenti ora suscepit. 6. Intuere, o homo, consilium Dei, agnosce consilium sapientiae, consilium pietatis. Coelesti rore aream rigaturus, totum vellus prius infudit (Jud. VI, 37-40): redempturus humanum genus, pretium universum contulit in Mariam. Utquid hoc? Forte ut excusaretur Eva per filiam, et querela viri adversus feminam deinceps sopiretur. Ne dixeris ultra, o Adam: Mulier quam dedisti mihi, dedit mihi de ligno vetito (Gen. III, 12); dic potius: Mulier quam dedisti mihi, me cibavit fructu benedicto. Piissimum sane consilium; sed latet forsitan aliud, nec totum hoc est. Verum id quidem, sed parum est, ni fallor, desideriis vestris. Dulcedo lactis est; elicietur forte, si fortius premimus, et pinguedo butyri. Altius ergo intueamini, quanto devotionis affectu a nobis eam voluerit honorari, qui totius boni plenitudinem posuit in Maria: ut proinde si quid spei in nobis est, si quid gratiae, si quid salutis, ab ea noverimus redundare, quae ascendit deliciis affluens. Hortus plane deliciarum, quem non modo afflaverit veniens, sed et perflaverit superveniens auster ille divinus, ut undique fluant et effluant aromata ejus, charismata scilicet gratiarum. Tolle corpus hoc solare, quod illuminat mundum: ubi dies? Tolle Mariam, hanc maris stellam, maris utique magni et spatiosi: quid nisi caligo involvens, et umbra mortis, ac densissimae tenebrae relinquuntur? 7. Totis ergo medullis cordium, totis praecordiorum affectibus, et votis omnibus Mariam hanc veneremur; quia sic est voluntas ejus, qui totum nos habere voluit per Mariam. Haec, inquam, voluntas ejus est, sed pro nobis. In omnibus siquidem et per omnia providens miseris, trepidationem nostram solatur, fidem excitat, spem roborat, diffidentiam abigit, erigit pusillanimitatem. Ad Patrem verebaris accedere, solo auditu territus, ad folia fugiebas; Jesum tibi dedit mediatorem. Quid non apud talem Patrem Filius talis obtineat? Exaudietur utique pro reverentia sua: Pater enim diligit Filium. An vero trepidas et ad ipsum? Frater tuus est et caro tua, tentatus per omnia absque peccato, ut misericors fieret. Hunc tibi fratrem Maria dedit. Sed forsitan et in ipso majestatem vereare divinam, quod licet factus sit homo, manserit tamen Deus. Advocatum habere vis et ad ipsum? Ad Mariam recurre. Pura siquidem humanitas in Maria, non modo pura ab omni contaminatione, sed et pura singularitate naturae. Nec dubius dixerim, exaudietur et ipsa pro reverentia sua. Exaudiet utique Matrem Filius, et exaudiet Filium Pater. Filioli, haec peccatorum scala, haec mea maxima fiducia est, haec tota ratio spei meae. Quid enim? potestne Filius aut repellere, aut sustinere repulsam; non audire, aut non audiri Filius potest? Neutrum plane. Invenisti, ait angelus, gratiam apud Deum. Feliciter. Semper haec inveniet gratiam, et sola est gratia qua egemus. Prudens Virgo non sapientiam, sicut Salomon, non divitias, non honores, non potentiam, sed gratiam requirebat. Nimirum sola est gratia, qua salvamur. 8. Quid nos alia concupiscimus, fratres? Quaeramus gratiam, et per Mariam quaeramus; quia quod quaerit, invenit, et frustrari non potest. Quaeramus gratiam, sed gratiam apud Deum: nam apud homines gratia fallax. Quaerant alii meritum, nos invenire gratiam studeamus. Quid enim? num gratiae est quod hic sumus? Profecto misericordiae Domini est, quod non sumus consumpti nos. Qui nos? Nos parjuri, nos adulteri, nos homicidae, nos raptores, purgamenta utique mundi hujus. Consulite conscientias vestras, fratres, et videte, quia ubi abundavit delictum, superabundat et gratia. Maria non praetendit meritum, sed gratiam quaerit. Denique usque adeo fidit gratiae, et non altum sapit, ut salutationem angelicam vereatur. Maria, inquit, cogitabat qualis esset ista salutatio (Luc. I, 29). Nimirum sese salutatione angelica reputabat indignam. Et forsitan talia meditabatur: Unde hoc mihi, ut veniat angelus Domini mei ad me? Ne timeas, Maria, ne mireris angelum venientem: et major angelo venit. Ne mireris angelum Domini: et Dominus angeli tecum. Postremo, quidni videas angelum, cum jam angelice vivas? quidni visitet angelus vitae sociam? quidni salutet civem sanctorum, et domesticam Dei? Angelica plane vita virginitas: et qui non nubent, neque nubentur, erunt sicut angeli Dei. 9. Videsne quod et hoc nihilominus modo aquaeductus noster ascendit ad fontem; nec sola jam oratione coelos penetrat, sed etiam incorruptione, quae proximum Deo facit, sicut Sapiens ait? (Sap. VI, 20.) Erat enim virgo sancta corpore et spiritu, cui specialiter esset dicere: Conversatio nostra in coelis est (Philipp. III, 20). Sancta inquam, corpore et spiritu, ne quid forsitan super hoc dubites aquaeductu. Sublimis equidem valde, sed nihilominus integerrimus manet. Hortus conclusus, fons signatus, templum Domini, sacrarium Spiritus sancti. Nec enim est fatua virgo, cui non modo oleum est, sed olei plenitudo in vase recondita. Ascensiones in corde suo disposuit, conversatione pariter, sicuti jam diximus, et oratione ascendens. Denique abiit in montana cum festinatione, et salutavit Elisabeth, et in ministerio ejus erat quasi mensibus tribus, ut jam tunc posset dicere matri mater, quod tanto post filio dixit Filius: Sine modo; sic enim decet nos implere omnem justitiam (Matth. III, 15). Plane montana conscendens, cujus justitia sicut montes Dei. Tertius enim hic ascensus Virginis fuit, ut funiculus triplex difficile rumperetur. Fervebat siquidem in quaerenda gratia charitas, splendebat in carne virginitas, humilitas in obsequio eminebat. Etenim si omnis qui se humiliat exaltabitur, quid hac humilitate sublimius? Venisse eam mirabatur Elisabeth, et dicebat: Unde hoc mihi, ut veniat mater Domini mei ad me? (Luc. I, 43.) Sed jam magis miretur, quod instar utique Filii et ipsa non ministrari venerit, sed ministrare. Merito proinde cantor ille divinus in ipsius admiratione praecinens, aiebat: Quae est ista quae ascendit sicut aurora consurgens, pulchra ut luna, electa ut sol, terribilis ut castrorum acies ordinata? (Cant. VI, 9.) Ascendit plane supra humanum genus, ascendit usque ad angelos, sed et ipsos quoque transcendit, et coelestem omnem supergreditur creaturam. Nimirum supra angelos hauriat necesse est, quam refundat hominibus aquam vivam. 10. Quomodo, inquit, fiet istud, quoniam virum non cognosco? Vere sancta corpore et spiritu, et integritatem carnis habens, et propositum integritatis. Respondens autem angelus, dixit: Spiritus sanctus superveniet in te, et virtus Altissimi obumbrabit tibi (Luc. I, 34, 35). Ne me interrogaveris, inquit; supra me est, et non potero ad illud. Spiritus sanctus, non angelicus, superveniet in te; et virtus Altissimi obumbrabit tibi, non ego. Ne steteris vel intra angelos, Virgo sancta; sublimius aliquid tuo sibi ministerio propinandum terra sitiens praestolatur. Paululum cum pertransieris eos, invenies quem diligit anima tua. Paululum, inquam, non quia non incomparabiliter superemineat, sed quod inter eum et ipsos medium nihil invenias. Transi ergo virtutes et dominationes, cherubin quoque et seraphin, ut ad eum pervenias, de quo vociferantur ad invicem: Sanctus, sanctus, sanctus Dominus Deus sabaoth (Isai. VI, 3). Quod enim ex te nascetur Sanctum, vocabitur Filius Dei (Luc. I, 35). Fons sapientiae, Verbum Patris in excelsis. Hoc Verbum mediante te caro fiet: ut qui dicit: Ego in Patre, et Pater in me (Joan. XIV, 10); dicat nihilominus, quia ego a Deo processi et veni (Joan. VIII, 42). In principio, inquit, erat Verbum. Jam scatet fons; sed interim tantum in semetipso. Denique et Verbum erat apud Deum (Joan. I, 1), lucem profecto habitans inaccessibilem; et dicebat Dominus ab initio: Ego cogito cogitationes pacis, et non afflictionis (Jerem. XXIX, 11). Sed penes te est cogitatio tua, et quid cogites, nos nescimus. Quis enim cognoverat sensum Domini? aut quis consiliarius ejus erat? Descendit itaque cogitatio pacis in opus pacis: Verbum caro factum est, et habitat jam in nobis. Habitat plane per fidem in cordibus nostris, habitat in memoria nostra, habitat in cogitatione, et usque ad ipsam descendit imaginationem. Quid enim prius cogitaret homo de Deo, nisi forsitan idolum corde fabricaret? 11. Incomprehensibilis erat et inaccessibilis, invisibilis et inexcogitabilis omnino. Nunc vero comprehendi voluit, videri voluit, cogitari voluit. Quonam modo, inquis? Nimirum jacens in praesepio, in virginali gremio cubans, in monte praedicans, in oratione pernoctans, aut in cruce pendens, in morte pallens, liber inter mortuos, et in inferno imperans, seu etiam tertia die resurgens, et apostolis loca clavorum victoriae signa demonstrans, novissime coram eis coeli secreta conscendens. Quid horum non vere, non pie, non sancte cogitatur? Quidquid horum cogito, Deum cogito. et per omnia ipse est Deus meus. Haec ego meditari dixi sapientiam, et prudentiam judicavi eructare memoriam suavitatis, quam in hujuscemodi nucleis virga sacerdotalis copiose produxit; quam in supernis hauriens, uberius nobis Maria refudit. In supernis plane, et ultra angelos, quae Verbum ex ipso Patris corde suscepit, ut scriptum est: Dies diei eructat verbum (Psal. XVIII, 3). Utique dies Pater: siquidem dies ex die Salutare Dei (Psal. XCV, 2). An non etiam Virgo dies? Et praeclara. Rutilans plane dies, quae procedit sicut aurora consurgens, pulchra ut luna, electa ut sol. 12. Intuere igitur quemadmodum usque ad angelos plenitudine gratiae, supra angelos superveniente Spiritu sancto pervenit. Est in angelis charitas, est puritas, est humilitas. Quid horum non enituit in Maria? Sed ostensum est superius, ut quidem a nobis ostendi potuit: supereminentiam prosequamur. Cui enim angelorum aliquando dictum est: Spiritus sanctus superveniet in te, et virtus Altissimi obumbrabit tibi: ideoque et quod nascetur ex te Sanctum, vocabitur Filius Dei? Denique Veritas de terra orta est, non de angelica creatura: nec angelos, sed semen Abrahae apprehendit. Magnum est angelo ut minister sit Domini; sed Maria sublimius quiddam meruit, ut sit mater. Fecunditas itaque Virginis supereminens gloria est, tantoque excellentior angelis facta munere singulari, quanto differentius prae ministris nomen matris accepit. Hanc invenit gratiam plena jam gratia, ut charitate fervida, virginitate integra, humilitate devota, fieret nihilominus sine viri cognitione gravida, sine muliebri dolore puerpera. Parum est: quod ex ea natum est, Sanctum vocatur, et est Filius Dei. 13. De reliquo, fratres, curandum nobis summopere est, ne Verbum, quod de ore Patris ad nos egressum est Virgine mediante, vacuum revertatur: sed per eamdem nihilominus Virginem gratiam pro gratia referamus. Eructemus memoriam, donec praesentiam suspiramus, et suae reddantur origini fluenta gratiae, ut uberius fluant. Alioquin nisi ad fontem redeant, exsiccantur, et infideles in modico, quod maximum est accipere non meremur. Modicum plane memoria ad praesentiam, modicum ad id quod cupimus, magnum ad id quod meremur: longe infra desiderium, sed nihilominus supra meritum. Sapienter proinde sponsa et pro hoc modico non modice gratulatur <alias, gloriatur>. Cum enim dixisset: Indica mihi ubi pascas, ubi cubes in meridie (Cant. I, 6); recipiens exigua pro immensis, et pro pastu meridiano libans sacrificium vespertinum, minime tamen, ut solet fieri, murmurat aut tristatur, sed gratias agit, et in omnibus sese exhibet devotiorem. Novit enim quod si fidelis fuerit in umbra memoriae, lucem praesentiae sine dubio obtinebit. Itaque, qui reminiscimini Domini, ne taceatis, et ne detis silentium. Nimirum qui praesentem habent Dominum, exhortatione non indigent: et quod ait Propheta alius: Lauda, Jerusalem, Dominum; lauda Deum tuum, Sion (Psal. CXLVII, 1), congratulationis est potius, quam commonitionis. Qui in fide ambulant, egent admonitione ne taceant, et ne dederint silentium ei. Loquitur enim, et loquitur pacem in plebem suam, et super sanctos suos, et in eos qui convertuntur ad cor. Caeterum cum sancto sanctus eris, et cum viro innocente innocens eris (Psal. XVII, 26): et audientem sese audiet, et loquenti sibi loquetur. Alioquin silentium ei dedisti si taceas. Sed unde si taceas? A laude. Ne taceatis, inquit, et ne detis silentium ei, donec stabiliat, et donec ponat Jerusalem laudem in terra (Isai. LXII, 6, 7). Laus Jerusalem, jucunda et decora laudatio. Nisi forte angelos cives Jerusalem mutuis opinamur laudibus delectari, et decipere de vanitate in idipsum. 14. Fiat voluntas tua, Pater, sicut in coelo et in terra, ut laus Jerusalem stabiliatur in terra. Quid enim modo est? Non quaerit angelus ab angelo gloriam in Jerusalem, et homo ab homine laudari cupit in terra? Exsecranda perversitas! sed eorum sit, qui ignorantiam Dei habent, qui obliti sunt Domini Dei sui. Vos qui reminiscimini Domini, ne taceatis a laude ejus, donec stabiliatur et perficiatur in terra. Est enim silentium irreprehensibile, imo et laudabile magis. Est et sermo non bonus. Alioquin non diceret propheta, bonum esse homini praestolari cum silentio Salutare Dei (Thren. III, 26). Bonum silentium a jactantia, bonum a blasphemia, bonum a murmure et defractione. Alius enim ob laboris magnitudinem et pondus diei exasperatus, animo murmurat; et dijudicat eos qui pro anima sua pervigilant, tanquam reddituri utique rationem. Clamor est, sed supra omne silentium clamor iste animi obdurati silere facit, quam audiri non patitur, vocem verbi. Alius pusillanimitate spiritus in exspectatione deficit: pessimumque hoc verbum blasphemiae est, quod nec in hoc saeculo remittitur, nec in futuro. Tertius in magnis ambulat, et in mirabilibus super se, dicens: Manus nostra excelsa; putans se aliquid esse, cum nihil sit. Quid loqueretur huic, qui loquitur pacem? Dicit enim: Quia dives sum, et nullius egeo. Porro Veritatis sententia est: Vae vobis divitibus, quia habetis hic consolationem vestram (Luc. VI, 24). Contra vero: Beati, inquit, qui lugent, quoniam ipsi consolabuntur (Matth. V, 5). Sileat ergo in nobis lingua maledica, lingua blasphema, lingua magniloqua; quoniam bonum est in hoc triplici silentio Salutare Domini praestolari, ut dicas: Loquere, Domine, quia audit servus tuus (I Reg. III, 10). Ejusmodi quippe voces non ad eum sunt, sed adversus eum, sicut legislator murmurantibus ait: Non enim contra nos est murmur vestrum, sed contra Dominum (Exod. XVI, 8). 15. Ita tamen ab his taceas, ne omnino taceas, ne dederis silentium ei. Loquere illi contra jactantiam in confessione, ut obtineas veniam de praeteritis. Loquere in gratiarum actione contra murmurationem, ut ampliorem invenias gratiam in praesenti. Loquere in oratione contra diffidentiam, ut consequaris et gloriam in futuro. Confitere, inquam, praeterita, et pro praesentibus gratias age, ac deinceps ora studiosius pro futuris: ut ne ipse quidem sileat a remissione, ab immissione, a promissione. Ne taceas, inquam, et ne dederis silentium ei. Loquere, ut et ipse loquatur, et dicere possis: Dilectus meus mihi, et ego illi (Cant. II, 16). Jucunda vox, et eloquium dulce. Nimirum non vox murmuris haec, sed vox turturis est. Et ne dixeris: Quomodo cantabimus canticum Domini in terra aliena? (Psal. CXXXVI, 4.) Non jam aliena reputabitur, de qua sponsus ait: Vox turturis audita est in terra nostra. Audierat enim dicentem: Capite nobis vulpes parvulas (Cant. II, 12, 15): et forte ex eo in vocem exsultationis erupit, ut diceret: Dilectus meus mihi, et ego illi. Plane vox turturis, quae tam viventi, quam mortuo, singulari utique castimonia, suo compari perseverat, ut eam neque mors, neque vita a Christi separet charitate. Intuere etenim, utrumnam aliquid hunc dilectum avertere potuerit a dilecta, quominus ei et peccanti, et aversae perseveraret. Glomeratae nubes radios offundere contendebant, ut iniquitates nostrae separarent inter nos et Deum: sed incaluit <alias, invaluit> sol, et universa dissolvit. Alioquin quando rediisses ad eum, nisi ille tibi perseverasset, nisi clamasset: Revertere, revertere, Sunamitis; revertere, revertere, ut intueamur te?(Cant. VI, 12.) Esto ergo illi et tu nihilominus perseverans, ut nullis ab eo flagellis aut laboribus avertaris. 16. Luctare cum angelo, ne succumbas; quia regnum coelorum vim patitur, et violenti rapiunt illud. An non lucta, dilectus meus mihi, et ego illi? (Matth. XI, 12.) Notam fecit dilectionem suam; experiatur et tuam. In multis enim tentat te Dominus Deus tuus. Declinat saepius, avertit faciem, sed non in ira. Probationis istud est, non reprobationis. Sustinuit te dilectus; sustine tu dilectum, sustine Dominum, viriliter age. Non illum vicere peccata tua; te quoque ipsius flagella non superent, et obtinebis benedictionem. Sed quando? Cum aurora fuerit, cum aspiraverit jam dies, cum stabilierit Jerusalem laudem in terra. Ecce, inquit, vir luctabatur cum Jacob usque mane (Gen. XXXII, 24). Auditam fac mihi mane misericordiam tuam, quia speravi in te, Domine. Non tacebo, nec dabo tibi silentium usque mane; utinam nec jejunium. Nimirum dignaris et pasci, sed inter lilia. Dilectus meus mihi, et ego illi, qui pascitur inter lilia. Nimirum et supra, si meministi, in eodem Cantico evidenter expressum est, quod florum apparitio turturis comitetur auditum. Sed attende, quod locum, non cibum indicare videtur; nec quibus pascitur exprimit, sed inter quae. Forte enim non cibo, sed consortio pascitur liliorum; nec liliis vescitur, sed versatur. Nimirum odore potius quam sapore lilia placent; et visui magis sunt apta quam esui. 17. Ita ergo pascitur inter lilia, donec aspiret dies, et venustati florum fructuum succedat ubertas. Interim <alias, ita> quippe florum, non fructuum tempus est, dum in spe magis, quam in re sumus; et per fidem, non per speciem ambulantes, exspectatione magis quam experientia gratulamur. Considera denique floris teneritudinem, et memento verbi, quod ait Apostolus, quia habemus thesaurum istum in vasis fictilibus (II Cor. IV, 7). Quanta enim videntur imminere pericula floribus! Quam facile spinarum aculeis lilium perforatur! Merito proinde canit dilectus: Sicut lilium inter spinas, sic amica mea inter filias (Cant. II, 2). An non erat lilium inter spinas, qui dicebat: Cum his qui oderunt pacem, eram pacificus? (Psal. CXIX, 7.) Caeterum etsi justus germinat sicut lilium, sed non ad lilium sponsus pascitur, nec in singularitate complacet sibi. Audi denique inter lilia commorantem. Ubi, inquit, duo vel tres congregati fuerint in nomine meo, ibi sum in medio eorum (Matth. XVIII, 2). Amat semper media Jesus, diverticula semper et reclinatoria reprobat Filius hominis, Dei et hominum mediator. Dilectus meus mihi, et ego illi, qui pascitur inter lilia. Curemus habere lilia, fratres, exstirpare spinas et tribulos, et inserere lilia festinemus: si quando forte et ad nos pascendus dignetur dilectus descendere. 18. Apud Mariam utique pascebatur, idque copiosius pro multitudine liliorum. An non lilia virginitatis decus, humilitatis insigne, supereminentia charitatis? Erunt tamen et nobis lilia, quamvis inferiora valde: sed ne inter haec quidem dedignabitur pasci sponsus; siquidem eas, quas praediximus, actiones gratiarum devotionis hilaritas illustraverit, orationem intentionis puritas candidaverit, confessionem indulgentia dealbaverit, sicut scriptum est: Si fuerint peccata vestra ut coccinum, quasi nix dealbabuntur; et si fuerint rubra quasi vermiculus, velut lana alba erunt (Isai. I, 18). Caeterum quidquid illud est, quod offerre paras, Mariae commendare memento, ut eodem alveo ad largitorem gratiae gratia redeat quo influxit. Neque enim impotens erat Deus, et sine hoc aquaeductu infundere gratiam, prout vellet; sed tibi vehiculum voluit providere. Forte enim manus tuae, aut sanguine plenae, aut infectae muneribus, quod non eas ab omni munere excussisti. Ideoque <alias, itaque> modicum istud quod offerre desideras, gratissimis illis et omni acceptione dignissimis Mariae manibus offerendum tradere cura, si non vis sustinere repulsam. Nimirum candidissima quaedam lilia sunt: nec causabitur ille liliorum amator inter lilia non inventum, quidquid illud sit quod inter Mariae manus invenerit. Amen.

Sermon on the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary. The Aqueduct. 1. Heaven embraces the fruitful Virgin's presence—earth reveres its memory of her. No wonder if there the Good appears in its fullness, here only a remembrance is found; if full satisfaction is there, here a sort of tasting of first fruits; there the thing itself, and here the name. Lord, says the Psalm, Your name is forever, and Your memory from generation to generation (Psalm 101:13)—generation to generation, not of Angels surely, but of men. How do we know that among us is a name and a memory, while full presence is on high? You shall pray like this, He says: Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name (Matthew 6:9). Faithful prayer, whose very first words remind us both of divine adoption and earthly exile, so that—knowing that as long we are not in Heaven we are exiled from God—we may groan inwardly, awaiting the adoption of sons, the presence, indeed, of the Father. The Prophet Jeremiah also speaks about Christ to the same effect, saying: The Spirit before our face is Christ the Lord; in His shadow we will live among the nations (Lamentations 4:20). For among the joys of Heaven we will not live in shadow—in splendor rather. Among the splendors of the Saints, the Psalm says, from the womb before dawn I begot you (Psalm 109:3)—in the voice, surely, of the Father. 2. His Mother, on the other hand, did not bear this same Son in splendor but in shadow—the very shadow with which the Most High overshadowed her. With good reason, then, the Church sings (not the Church of Saints in splendor on high, but she who wanders in earthly exile meanwhile): I waited in the shade of Him that I longed for, and His fruit is sweet to my throat (Song of Songs 2:3). She asked to be shown the noonday light where the Bridegroom pastures—but she was thrust back and received instead of the fullness of light, a shadow, instead of satisfaction, a taste. Moreover, she does not say, In the shade of Him that I longed for, but, I waited in the shade of Him that I longed for. And, surely, it was not His shadow she was after, but His very Self—His Noon, fullness of Light from the fullness of Light. And His fruit, she says, is sweet to my throat, as if she should say, to my taste. How long until you spare me, and let me swallow my spittle? (Job 7:19) How long that sentence delays!—Taste and see that the Lord is sweet (Psalm 33: 9). And indeed, He is sweet to taste, sweet to the throat, as the bride will break out in a cry of thanksgiving and praise over Him. 3. But when shall it be said, Eat, friends, and drink—and be drunk, my dearest ones (Song of Songs 5:1)? Let the just feast, says the Prophet, but in the sight of God, and not at all in shadow (Psalm 67:4). And about himself, I shall have my fill, he says, when Your glory appears (Psalm 16:15). And the Lord too says to His Apostles: You are those who have remained with me in my trials, and I bestow on you, as my Father has bestowed on me, a Kingdom, to eat and drink at my table (Luke 22:28-30). But where? In my Kingdom, he says. Blessed the man, clearly, who shall eat bread in the Kingdom of God. And so Hallowed be Thy name, by which meanwhile you are among us, Lord, dwelling in our hearts by Faith, since now we are called by Your name. Thy Kingdom come. Come indeed what is perfect, and what is in part pass away. You enjoy, says the Apostle, your fruit unto sanctification, the end, indeed, eternal life (Romans 6:22)—eternal life, the unfailing spring that waters all the plain of Paradise, and not only waters, but makes drunk; source of gardens, well of the living waters that pour in spate from Lebanon: and the rush of their stream gladdens the City of God. Who is the well-spring of life, if not Christ the Lord? When Christ your life appears, Paul says, then you too will appear with Him in glory (Colossians 3:4). Surely, Fullness Itself has emptied Itself, so that righteousness might be accomplished for you, and sanctification, and forgiveness—a life not yet appearing, a glory, a joy. The well-spring has been channeled all the way down to us, its waters have been channeled down among our streets—though the stranger may not drink of them (Proverbs 5: 16, 17). That heavenly stream comes down through an aqueduct, not yet displaying the abundance of its source, but spilling drops of grace on our parched hearts—more indeed to some, to others less. Full indeed is the aqueduct, so that all may receive from its fullness, but it is not fullness itself. 4. You have already guessed, I think, whom I wish to call an aqueduct—who, receiving from the heart of the Father the fullness of the Well-spring Himself, gave Him to us, if not as He is, at least according to our capacity. You know to whom it was said, Hail, full of grace! Or do we wonder that such an aqueduct could have been found, whose top—truly like unto that ladder which the Patriarch Jacob saw—touches the Heavens (Genesis 28:12), nay, climbs over the Heavens to tap that most lively spring of the waters above the Heavens. Solomon too wondered, and like to one despairing said: A steadfast woman who will find (Proverbs 31:10)? And no wonder: for the floods of grace withdrew from humankind so long a time—and this so dearly needed aqueduct, about whom we are speaking, was not yet spanning the gap between for us. Nor will you wonder at the length of the wait, if you recall how many years Noah, the righteous man, labored to construct the ark, in which a few souls—8 in all—were saved, and for a short enough time at that. 5. But how did this our aqueduct reach unto that so lofty source? How else but by a transport of longing, by the fervor of devotion, the purity of her prayer? As it is written, The prayer of a righteous man pierces the Heavens (Ecclesiastes 35:21). And who is righteous if not Mary, she from whom the Sun of Righteousness has risen upon us? How then did she reach unto the unapproachable Majesty, unless by knocking, asking, seeking? And what she sought, she also found—she to whom it was said, You have found grace before God (Luke 1:30). What? Is she full of grace, and still finds grace? She is thoroughly worthy to find what she seeks: she to whom her own fullness is not enough, who cannot be content with her own good, but instead—just as is written, Who drinks of me, will thirst (Ecclesiastes 24:29)—seeks waters overflowing to the salvation of all. The Holy Spirit, says the Angel, will come over you (Luke 1:35). In such abundance, in such fullness does that precious balsam flow over you, that it overflows from you most plenteously. All around you. It is so. We feel it now. Now our faces shine in the oil of gladness. Now we cry: Your name is oil poured forth, and your memory from generation to generation (Song of Songs 1:2). This is no waste—truly. Even though oil is poured out, it does not perish. Indeed, it is by this means that the young maidens, child souls, love the Bridegroom too (Song of Songs 1:2), and that is enough of a reason. Not only the beard, but even the hem of the garment has drunk of perfume running down from the head. 6. Gaze, O man, on the purpose of God, see the counsel of His wisdom, the design of His mercy. To water the ground with dew from Heaven, He first drenched a fleece through and through. To redeem humankind, he lavished on Mary the ransom of all. Why? Perhaps that Eve might be pardoned through her daughter, and man's quarrel with woman put to rest. Say no more, O Adam, The woman whom You gave me, gave me of the forbidden tree (Genesis 3:12). Say rather, The woman whom You gave me, fed me with her blessed fruit. A most merciful purpose, clearly—but more may still lie hidden, and this is not all. This indeed is true, but not enough, I think, to satisfy your longing. This is the sweetness of milk; if we press more boldly, we will draw forth the richness of butter as well. Gaze therefore more deeply, with as great a passion of devotion as He wanted her to win—He who set the fullness of all good in Mary, so that, if there is any hope in us, any grace, any salvation, we should know that it spills over from her who scales upward *with down-flowing channels. Surely, *a garden of delights which that divine South Wind not only breathed on in passing, but brooding over breathed through and through, so that its sweet smells might flow and overflow—the gifts, that is, of her graces. Take away the sun that lights the world—and where is day? Take away Mary, this star of the sea, yes, of a wide and open sea—and what is left but a blanket of gloom, the shade of death, and thickest darkness? *Bernard's Latin is untranslatable, since deliciae may mean “channels” or “delights”—and here means both. deliciis affluens means both “flowing with channels” and “flowing with delights” and hortus deliciarum means both “a garden of delights” (Song of Songs 4:12) and “a garden of channels.”  7. From our heart's core, then, with all our heart's affections, with all our prayers, let us revere this Mary; since such is His will, who willed to possess us entirely through Mary. This, I say, is His will, but for our sake. Since indeed, providing for wretches in all things and through all things, he calms our anxiety, awakens faith, strengthens hope, drives out diffidence, cheers a coward heart. You were afraid to draw near to the Father. Terrified at the mere hearing of Him, you fled for the cover of leaves. He gave you Jesus as a mediator. What will such a Son not obtain from such a Father? He will surely be heard because of his reverence. For the Father loves the Son. Or do you tremble at Him too? He is your brother and your flesh, tried in all things without sin, so that he became full of mercy. This brother Mary gave to you. But perhaps in Him too you fear the divine Majesty, because, although He became man, He nevertheless remained God. You want to have an advocate to Him as well? Run to Mary. In Mary is pure humanity, not only pure of every stain, but also pure in the singleness of her nature. Let me speak clearly: She too will be heard because of her reverence. The Son will surely listen to His Mother, and the Father will listen to His Son. Little children, she is the stairway of sinners, she is my greatest confidence, she is the whole cause of my hope. What then? Can the Son refuse her? or can He be refused? Can the Son fail to hear her? or fail to be heard Himself? Neither, clearly. You have found, says the Angel, favor with God. Lucky for us! She will always find grace, and it is grace alone that we need. The prudent Virgin asked not—as Solomon—for wisdom, not for riches, not honors, not power, but grace. And no doubt it is by grace alone that we are saved. 8. Why do we desire other things, brothers? Let us seek grace, and let us seek it through Mary. Since that which she seeks, she finds—and she cannot be disappointed. Let us seek favor—but favor with God, for favor with men is treacherous. Let others seek their deserts, but us, to find grace. What then? Is it not by grace that we are here? Surely, it is by the Lord's mercy that we have not been destroyed. Who are we? We are perjurers, we are adulterers, we are murderers, we are robbers—the refuse of this world. Consult your own consciences, brothers, and see that where sin abounded, grace too overflows. Mary does not pretend to merit but seeks grace. Truly, she relies so much on grace and is so far from high-mindedness (Rom 11:20) as to fear the Angel's greeting. Mary, Luke says, was considering what sort of greeting this was (Luke 1:29). No wonder if she thought herself unworthy of an Angel's greeting. And perhaps her thought was something like this: Whence is this to me, that the Angel of my Lord should come to me? Do not fear, Mary, do not wonder at the coming of an Angel: one greater than an Angel has also come. Do not wonder at the Angel of the Lord: The Lord of the Angel is also with you. Why should you not look on an Angel, when already you live as Angels live? Why should an Angel not visit his fellow in that life? Why should he not hail a citizen of the Saints and a member of the household of God? Clearly, the life of Angels is virgin purity—and they who do not marry, nor are given in marriage, shall be as the Angels of God. 9. Do you see that in this way too our aqueduct ascends to its source, and pierces the Heavens—not only now with prayer, but also with purity, which makes one neighbor to God, as the Wise man says (Wisdom 6:20). For she was a virgin, holy in body and spirit, whose it was, in a particular way, to say: Our way of life is in the Heavens (Philippians 3:20). Holy, I say, in body and spirit, lest perhaps you should doubt about this aqueduct. Rising high indeed, it nonetheless remains entirely whole and unbroken: a garden enclosed, a sealed fountain, the temple of the Lord, the shrine of the Holy Spirit. For she is no foolish virgin—she, who has not only oil, but the fullness of oil stored up in her jar. She laid a stairway in her heart, climbing both by her manner of life, as we have already said, and by prayer. Moreover, she went up in haste to the mountains and greeted Elizabeth, and was her helper for almost three months, so that already then she could say as mother to mother, what so long afterward Son said to son: Allow it for now—it is fitting that in this way we fulfill all righteousness (Matthew 3:15). Plainly, she who went up into the mountains was one whose righteousness is as the mountains of God. For this was the Virgin's third mountaintop (so that a three-ply cord might not be quickly broken): since indeed (1) charity glowed in her search for grace, (2) virginity shone in her flesh, (3) humility stood tall in her humble service. Indeed, if everyone who humbles himself will be exalted, what is loftier than this lowliness? Elizabeth wondered that she had come and said: Whence is this to me, that the mother of my Lord should come to me (Luke 1:43)? But let her now wonder the more, since—in every way like to her Son—she came not to be served but to serve. With good reason, then, that divine Singer, singing in wonder at her, said: Who is this who ascends like the rising dawn, beautiful as the moon, matchless as the sun, dreadful as the ranks of an army encamped (Song of Songs 6:9)? Clearly she ascends above humankind, ascends even to Angels—and these too she surpasses and treads above every Heavenly creature. And no wonder, since it is necessary that from above the Angels she draw the living water that she pours out for men. 10. How, she says, shall this be, since I do not know man? Truly holy in body and spirit, maintaining both the purity of her flesh and her vow of purity. But the Angel said in answer, The Holy Spirit will come over you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you (Luke 1:34-35). Do not question me, he says, He is above me—and I cannot answer. The Holy Spirit, not an Angelic spirit, will come over you. And the power of the Most High will overshadow you, not I. Do not pause even among the Angels, Holy Virgin. The parched earth waits for you to give it something loftier to drink. When you have passed a little way beyond the Angels, you will find Him whom your soul loves. A little, I say, not because He is not incomparably higher, but because between Him and them you will find nothing between. Therefore go up past Virtues and Dominions, Cherubim and Seraphim, so that you may come to Him about whom choir cries aloud unto choir: Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God of Hosts (Isaiah 6:3). Since, indeed, that which will be born of you is Holy, and will be called Son of God (Luke 1:35), the Well-spring of wisdom, the Word of the Father on high. By means of you this Word will become flesh, so that He who says, I am in the Father and the Father is in me (John 14:10), may also say, because I have gone forth and come from God (John 8:42). In the beginning, says John, was the Word: Already the spring wells up, but, for now, only within itself. Indeed, the Word was with God (John 1:1), dwelling surely in unapproachable light—and the Lord said from the beginning, I am thinking thoughts of peace, and not of affliction (Jeremiah 29:11). But Your thought is hidden within You, and we do not know what You are thinking. For who has known the intention of the Lord? Or who was His counselor? And so His thought of peace descended to become the work of peace. The Word became flesh, and now is dwelling among us. Clearly, He dwells in our hearts through faith, He dwells in our memory, He dwells in our thought, and He has descended even into our imagination. For before this how should man have thought about God, except perhaps by fashioning an idol in his heart? 11. He was incomprehensible and unapproachable, invisible and altogether inconceivable. But now He wished to be understood, wished to be seen, wished to be thought on. In what way?, you ask? Lying in a manger, sleeping in a Virgin's lap, preaching on a mountain, praying through the night, hanging on a cross, growing pale in death, free among the dead, and issuing commands in hell—or indeed rising again on the third day and showing the apostles the nail marks, signs of His victory, and last of all ascending to the secrets of Heaven in their presence. Which of these things is not true, devout, and holy to think on? Whichever of these I think, I think on God. And through all these things He is my God. I have said that to meditate on these things is wisdom, and I judged it prudence to arouse the memory of the sweetness which the Priestly Rod put forth, budding in flowers like these—sweetness which, drawing from realms above, Mary pours out overflowingly for us. In realms above, clearly, and beyond the Angels is she who received the Word from the very heart of the Father, as is written, Day utters the Word to day. Surely, Day is the Father, since indeed, Day from Day is the Salvation of God (Psalm 95:2). Is not the Virgin also day?—and resplendent. The rose-light of morning, clearly, which goes forth like the rising dawn, beautiful as the moon, matchless as the sun.  12. Gaze therefore as though unto Angels in the fullness of grace—since, with the Holy Spirit coming over her, she passed beyond the Angels. There is in Angels charity, there is purity, there is lowliness. Which of these has not shone forth in Mary? Indeed, in her they appear more fully, as we have seen. Let us press on to the utmost peak. For to which of the Angels was it said at any time: The Holy Spirit will come over you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you, and therefore also that which will be born of you is Holy, and will be called the Son of God? Truth at last has arisen—from the earth, and not an Angelic creature. He has not taken hold of Angels but the seed of Abraham. It is great for an Angel to be servant of the Lord, but Mary won something more lofty: to be His mother. And so the Virgin's fruitfulness is a surpassing glory: by her singular office she became as much higher than the Angels, as the name she received—of mother—is set apart from servants. Already full of grace, she found grace, such that—with glowing charity, unstained virginity, devoted lowliness—she grew with child without knowing man, without the labor pains of woman. All this is still too little—that which was born of her is called Holy, and is the Son of God. 13. About the rest, brothers, we must take the greatest pains ourselves, in order that the Word which went forth from the mouth of the Father to us by means of the Virgin might not return to Him empty. Through the same Virgin, rather, let us give back grace for grace without cease. Let us arouse the memory, until we breathe the presence—and let the floods of grace be returned to their source, thence to flow more richly. If, on the other hand, they fail to return to the well-spring, if they dry up; then we too, unfaithful in a small thing, will not merit to receive what is greatest. Small indeed is memory beside presence—small in comparison to what we long for, great in comparison with what we deserve. Far short of our longing, but just as far surpassing our desert. Wisely then the bride rejoices greatly over this little thing. For though she had said: Show me where you pasture, where you lie down at noon (Song of Songs 1:6); yet receiving little things instead of immensities, instead of the noonday pasture pouring out an evening offering—nay more, as often happens, grumbling or downcast, she nevertheless gives thanks, and in all things shows herself the more devoted. For she knows that if she is faithful in the shadow of memory, she will doubtlessly gain the light of presence. And so, you who remember the Lord, do not be silent, do not give Him silence. It is no wonder that those who have the Lord present with them are in no need of exhortation. And that which another prophet says—Praise the Lord, Jerusalem! O Sion, praise your God! (Psalm 147:1)—is more to rejoice with her than to instruct her. They who walk in faith, however, need to be warned not to keep silence, not to give Him silence. For He speaks, speaks peace to His people, and to His saints, and to those whose are turned in their heart. Indeed, You will be holy with the holy man, and to the man who does no harm You will do no harm (Psalm 17:26). And He will hear him who hears Him, and to him who speaks to Him He will speak. On the other hand, if you say nothing, you have given Him silence. But from what does your silence shrink? From praise. Do not be silent, Isaiah says, do not give Him silence, until He establishes and founds the praise of Jerusalem on earth—the praise of Jerusalem, a sweet and fitting praise. For do not imagine that Angels, the citizens of Jerusalem, take delight in mutual adulation, and delude themselves in the vanity of this very thing (Psalm 57). 14. Thy will be done, Father, on earth as it is in Heaven, that the praise of Jerusalem may be founded on earth. What then is this? Angel does not seek glory from Angel in Jerusalem—and does man covet praise from man on the earth!? Cursed perversity! There may be some who have no knowledge of God, who have forgotten the Lord their God. But you who remember the Lord, do not shrink from His praise, until it is established and perfect on earth. There is indeed a blameless silence, yes, even a very praiseworthy one. There is speech too that is not good. Otherwise the prophet would not have said that, It is good for a man to wait in silence for the salvation of God (Lamentations 3:26). Good is silence from boasting, from blasphemy, from grumbling and slander. For one man, raw from great labor and the weight of the day, grumbles at heart, and sits in judgment over those who keep watch for his soul's sake, as though they were not going to be held accountable for him! It is a noise, but more than any silence this noise of a hardened heart silences the sound of the word, and will not let it be heard. Another through weak-heartedness forsakes his hope: this is that worst word of blasphemy, forgiven neither in this age nor in the age to come. A third walks among the great, and among marvelous things that are above him, saying, Our hand is lifted on high, thinking himself to be something, though he is nothing. Why should he speak to Him who speaks peace? For he says, Because I am rich I am in need of nothing. But this is the judgment of Truth: Woe to you rich, for you have your consolation here (Luke 6:24). But on the other hand: Blessed, He says, are they who grieve, since they will be consoled (Matthew 5:5). Then may the cursing tongue fall silent within us, the blaspheming tongue, the vaunting tongue. Since it is good in this threefold silence to await the Salvation of the Lord, so that you may say, Speak, Lord, for your servant listens (1 Samuel 3:10). Cries of this sort, indeed, are not to Him, but against Him, just as the Lawgiver says to grumblers: For your grumbling is not against us, but against the Lord (Exodus 16:8). 15. So keep silent from these things, but do be not altogether silent, do not give Him silence. Speak to Him, against boasting, in confession, that you may obtain pardon for the past. Speak in thanksgiving, against grumbling, that you may find more abudant grace in what is at hand. Speak in prayer against diffidence, that you may win glory in the future. Confess the past, I say, and give thanks for the present, and finally pray earnestly for the future, so that He may not be silent from forgiving you, from bringing you in, from giving you His promise. Do not be silent, I say, and do not give Him silence. Speak, and He Himself will speak as well, and you will be able to say, My beloved is mine, and I am His (Song of Songs 2:16)—a pleasant cry, and a sweet utterance. This surely is not the sound of grumbling, but the call of a turtle. And do not say, How shall we sing the Lord's song in a strange land? (Psalm 136:4). For she will be thought a stranger no longer, of whom the Bridegroom says, The call of the turtle is heard in our land. For he had heard her saying: Catch us the little foxes, and an exultant cry broke forth from Him, so that he said: My beloved is Mine, and I am hers (Song of Songs 2: 12, 15). Clearly the voice of the turtle is that which perseveres in bridal chastity for her Spouse—for Him living, and for Him dead—so that neither death nor life may separate her from the love of Christ. Consider indeed, whether anything could turn this Beloved one away from His beloved, so that He would not cling to her even in her sin, even in her turning from Him. Thickening clouds strove to blot out His rays, so that our sins might make a divorce between us and God. But the sun blazed through and dispelled them all. Would you at some time have returned to Him, if He had not clung to you, if He had not cried: Turn back, turn back, O Sunamite, turn back, turn back that we may look upon you? Be you too therefore no less faithful to Him, so that lashes or labors may never turn you from Him. 16. Wrestle the Angel. Do not give in. For the Kingdom of Heaven suffers violence, and the violent bear it away (Matthew 11:12). Is it not a wrestling-match—my Beloved is mine, and I am His? He made His love known, let Him test yours too. For in many things the Lord your God is trying you. He often turns aside, turns away His face, but not in wrath. This is to prove, not reprove you. Your Beloved has borne with you. Now you bear with your Beloved. Bear with your Lord, do so manfully. Your sins did not defeat Him. Let not His lashes defeat you, and you will win a blessing. But when? When it is dawn, when day is fast approaching, when He founds the praise of Jerusalem on earth. Behold, it says, a man wrestled with Jacob until morning (Genesis 32:24). In the morning make me know Your mercy, since I have hoped in You, Lord. I will not be silent, I will not give You silence until morning. Oh that this fast were over. Then, no doubt, You too would deign to pasture—but among lilies, My Beloved is mine, and I am His, who pastures among lilies. You will not wonder at these things, if you recall that it is also clearly expressed in the same Song that the appearance of flowers will accompany the sound of the turtle. But look carefully at the passage—food does not seem to be mentioned, nor does it say on what he pastures, but among what: lilies. For, as it happens, he does not pasture on food, but on the company of lilies; nor does he eat lilies, but dwells with them. And no wonder, since lilies please rather by their smell than their taste—and are better to look on than to eat. 17. In this way, then, he pastures among lilies until day draw near, and the fullness of fruits supplant the beauty of flowers. Meanwhile, it is the time of flowers, not fruits, in which we are more in hope, than in reality. Walking by faith, not sight, we rejoice more in anticipation than experience. Think, moreover, of the delicacy of a flower, and remember the word of the Apostle, That we hold this treasure in jars made of clay (2 Corinthians 4:7). What great dangers hang over flowers! How easy to tear a lily on pricking thorns! With good cause, then, the Beloved sings: As a lily between thorns, so is my dear one among daughters (Song of Songs 2:2).Or was He not a lily between thorns, who said, With men who hate peace I was peaceful (Psalm 109:7). Though the just man blossoms as the lily, still the Bridegroom does not pasture beside one lily nor is He content with its singular excellence. Hear him lingering among lilies: Where, he says, two or three have gathered in my name, there am I between them (Matthew 18:2). Jesus always loves the betweens, always the Son of man reproves our little divorces and fallings off—mediator of God and men. My Beloved is mine and I am His, who pastures between lilies. Let us take care to have lilies, brothers, and to root out thorns and thistles, and let us hurry to sow lilies between us—if ever it may be that the Beloved deign to come down and pasture beside us too. 18. At Mary's house he pastured indeed, and the more richly for the host of her lilies. Are not the lilies of her purity fair, of her humility splendod, and of her charity surpassing? Still, we too will have lilies—and, though far lesser, yet the Bridegroom will not disdain to pasture among them; if only cheerful devotion shine in our acts of thanksgiving (as I mentioned above), if purity of intention brighten our prayer, if His kindness wash clean our confession, as it is written: If your sins are as scarlet, they shall be washed white as snow; and if they are red as scarlet-worm, they shall be white as wool (Isaiah 1:18). Whatever you are preparing to offer, remember to entrust it to Mary, so that—by that same channel from which it flowed—grace may return to grace's Lavisher. God indeed was not impotent—therefore, you too allow grace to flow from this aqueduct over you, according to the measure He wills for you; for He willed to provide a means of conveyance to you. It may indeed be that your hands are full of blood, or stained by bribes, because you have not shaken them free of every bribe. And because it is a small thing that you want to offer, be sure to give it over to Mary's hands to offer, hands most dear and worthy of acceptance—unless you want to suffer refusal! It is no wonder that some lilies are most radiant, nor will that Lover of lilies complain that anything which he finds between the hands of Mary was not found between lilies. Amen.