Rampolli Part 17

That makes the old dragon ramp and roar; The child he tries to swallow; His rage is rage and nothing more!

No hurt that rage will follow.

The child up high Into the sky Away is heft, And he is left On earth, all mad with murder.

The mother all alone is she, But G.o.d will watch and ward her, And her true Father be.

VII.

A SONG CONCERNING THE TWO MARTYRS OF CHRIST, BURNT AT BRUSSELS BY THE SOPHISTS OF LOUBAINE, WHICH TOOK PLACE IN THE YEAR 1523.

A new song here shall be begun-- The Lord G.o.d help our singing!-- Of what our G.o.d himself hath done, Praise, honour to him bringing: At Brussels in the Netherlands, By two young boys, He gracious Displays the wonders of his hands, Giving them gifts right precious, And richly them adorning.

The first right fitly John was named, So rich he in G.o.d's favour; His brother, Henry--one unblamed, Whose salt had lost no savour.

From this world they are gone away, The diadem they've gained!

Honest, like G.o.d's good children, they For his word life disdained, And have become his martyrs.

The ancient foe on them laid hold, With terrors did enwrap them; To lie against G.o.d's word them told, With cunning would entrap them: From Louvaine too, to see the game And in his crust nets take them, Many a sophist gathered came: The Spirit fools did make them-- Their cunning could gain nothing.

Oh! they sung sweet, and they sung sour; Oh! they tried every double; The boys they stood firm as a tower, And mocked the sophists' trouble.

The serpent old it filled with hate To be thuswise defeated By two such youngsters--he, so great!-- His wrath sevenfold was heated, And he resolved to burn them.

Their cloister-garments off they tore, Undid their consecrations; All this the boys were ready for, And said Amen with patience.

To G.o.d their Father they gave thanks That they would soon be rescued From Satan's scoffs and mumming pranks, Whereby with false pretences The world he so befooleth.

Then gracious G.o.d did grant to them To pa.s.s true priesthood's border, And offer up themselves to him, Thus entering Christ's own order; So to the world to die outright, With falsehood make a schism; And coming to heaven pure and white Give monkery the besom, And leave behind men's prattle.

They wrote for them a paper small: At their request they read it; They showed them every point there, all To which themselves gave credit.

There was an error great indeed!

In G.o.d we should trust solely: To cheat and lie, man maketh speed; We should distrust him wholly: For that they burn to ashes.

Two awful fires they kindled then, The boys they carried to them; Great wonder seizes every man That with contempt they view them.

With joy themselves they yielded quite, With singing and G.o.d-praising: The sophists had small appet.i.te For these new things so dazing Which G.o.d was thus revealing.

They now repent the deed of blame, Would gladly gloze it over; They dare not glory in their shame; The facts almost they cover.

In their hearts gnaweth infamy-- They to their friends deplore it: The Spirit cannot silent be; Good Abel's blood out-poured Must still old Cain discover!

To spread, their ashes will not cease; Into all lands they scatter; Stream, hole, ditch, grave will them release; All winds shall tell the matter.

Them whom from life their murderous hand Drove down to silence triple, They hear them now in every land, In tongues of every people, Go about gladly singing.

Still their foul lies they will not leave, But trim and dress the murther; The fable false which out they give Shows conscience grinds them further.

G.o.d's holy ones, even after death, They still go on belying; They say that with their latest breath The boys, in act of dying, Repented and recanted!

Let them lie on for evermore-- Nothing by that they're gaining; For us, we thank our G.o.d therefore: His word is yet remaining!

Even at the door is summer nigh, The winter hard is ended, The tender flowers come out to spy: His hand when once extended Stays not till it has finished. Amen.

VIII. GRACE.

I.

THE SIXTY-SEVENTH PSALM.

Would that the Lord would grant us grace, And in his volume write us!

With its clear s.h.i.+ning let his face To life eternal light us; That we may know his work at length, And what men him have faith in; And Jesus Christ our health and strength Be known to all the heathen, And unto G.o.d convert them.

G.o.d then will thank, and thee will praise The heathen with glad voices; Let all the world for joy upraise A song with mighty noises, Because thou art earth's judge, O Lord, Nor leav'st the righteous quailing; Thy word it is both bed and board, And for all folk availing In the right path to keep them.

Let them thank G.o.d, and thee adore, Thy folk of deeds of grace full.

The land grows fruitful more and more; Thy word it is successful.

Bless us the Father and the Son, And bless us, G.o.d, the Holy Ghost, To whom by all be honour done!

Before him fear the human host!

Now heartily say Amen.

II.

THE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-EIGHTH PSALM.

Happy who in G.o.d's fear doth stay, And in it goeth on his way; Thine own hand thee shall find thy food, So liv'st thou right, and all is good.

So shall thy wife be, in thy house, Like vine with cl.u.s.ters plenteous, Thy children sit thy table round Like olive plants all fresh and sound.

See, such rich blessing hangs him on Whom G.o.d's fear maketh live a man; From him the old curse away is worn To which the sons of men are born.

From Zion G.o.d will prosper thee; Thou shalt behold continually Jerusalem's now happy case So pleasing to the G.o.d of grace.

He will thy days prolong for thee, With goodness ever nigh thee be That thou with thy sons' sons may'st dwell, And there be peace in Israel.

III.

A SONG OF THANKSGIVING FOR THE BENEFITS MOST GREAT WHICH G.o.d HATH SHOWN TO US IN CHRIST.

Dear Christians, let us now rejoice, And dance in joyous measure; That, of good cheer, and with one voice, We sing in love and pleasure Of what to us our G.o.d hath shown, And the sweet wonder he hath done: Full dearly hath he bought it!

Forlorn and lost in death I lay A captive to the devil; My sin lay heavy, night and day, For I was born in evil.

I fell but deeper for my strife There was no good in all my life, For sin had all-possessed me.

My good works they were worthless quite, A mock was all my merit; My free will hates G.o.d's judging light, To all good dead and buried.

Me to despair my anguish drove, Down unto death my soul did shove: I must be plunged in h.e.l.l-fire!

Then G.o.d was sorry on his throne To see such torment rend me; His tender mercy he thought on, And his good help would send me.

He turned to me his father-heart: Ah, then was His no easy part; His very best it cost him!

To his dear son he said: Go down; Things go in piteous fas.h.i.+on; Go thou, my heart's exalted crown, Be the poor man's salvation.

Lift him from out sin's scorn and scathe; Strangle for him that cruel Death, And take him to live with thee.

The son he heard obediently; And, by a maiden mother, Pure, tender--down he came to me, For he must be my brother!

Concealed he brought his strength enorm, And went about in my poor form, Meaning to catch the devil.