S. CYRIL. Lib. v. in Joh. Cap. x. O precious water! which quencheth the noisome thirst of this world, scoureth all the stains of sinners, that watereth the earth of our souls with heavenly showers, and bringeth back the thirsty heart of man to his only God! S. AUGUST. Soliloq. Cap. xxxv. O fountain of life, and vein of living waters, when shall I leave this forsaken, impassible, and dry earth, and taste the waters of thy sweetness, that I may behold thy virtue and thy glory, and slake my thirst with the streams of thy mercy! Lord, I thirst; thou art the spring of life, satisfy me: I thirst, Lord, I thirst after thee the living God! EPIG. 11. The arrow-smitten hart, deep-wounded, flies Pierce thy faint sides: do so, my wounded heart. PSALM XII. PSALM xlii. 2. When shall I come and appear before God? HAT is my soul the better, to be tin'd* WH With holy fire? what bootst it to be coin'd With heav'n's own stamp? what 'vantage‡ can there be To souls of heav'n-descended pedigree, More than to beasts that grovel? are not they Do they not taste thee? hear thee? nay, what sense What more do we? alas! what serves our reason, Great God! but in the clearer view of thee: How often hath my patience built, dear Lord, Tined; i. e. lighted up. + Boots; i. e profits. It f it be high presumption to behold Thy face, why didst thou make mine eyes so bold The jolly shepherd pipes; flow'rs freshly spring; S. AU S. AUGUST. in Psal. xxxix. Who created all things, is better than all things: who beautified all things, is more beautiful than all things: who made strength, is stronger than all things: who made great things, is greater than all things: whatsoever thou lovest, he is that to thee: learn to love the workman in his work, the Creator in his creature. Let not that which was made by him possess thee, lest thou lose him by whom thyself was made. S. AUGUST. Med. Cap. xxxvii. O thou most sweet, most gracious, most amiable, most fair, when shall I see thee? when shall I be satisfied with thy beauty? when wilt thou lead me from this dark dungeon, that I may confess thy name? EPIG. 12. How art thou shaded, in this veil of night, PSALM XIII. PSALM IV. 6. O that I had the wings of a dove, for then I would fly away A and be at rest. ND am I sworn a dunghill-slave for ever A night of rest? Shall my indentures never Be cancell'd? Did injurious nature bind My soul earth's prentice, with no clause to leave her? No day of freedom? Must I for ever grind? O that I had the pinions of a dove, That I might quit my bands, and soar above, And pour my just complaints before the great JEHOVE! 2. How happy are the doves, that have the pow'r, Leaves earth, and then for joy mounts up and sings! Had my dull soul but wings as well as they, How I would spring from earth, and clip* away, As wise Astrea did, and scorn this ball of clay ! *Clip; i. e. fly swiftly. P 2. O how |