 | Pietatis Lachrymae Teares of deuotion |  |
Mors Christi, mihi vita.
Th'Eternall Father, guider of the heauen,
To his all-glorious and immortall Hoast:
No other licence to them hath he giuen,
But that their garlands, and their crownes of cost
(While heau'nly quiers doe sing, as it is meete)
Be laid at his great Sonnes immortall feete.
To his all-glorious and immortall Hoast:
No other licence to them hath he giuen,
But that their garlands, and their crownes of cost
(While heau'nly quiers doe sing, as it is meete)
Be laid at his great Sonnes immortall feete.
Yet see the malice and the crueltie,
Of these hard-hearted and inhumaine men:
With purple cloth (aye me) in mockerie,
They cloath the flesh of this great God; and then
To him they bend the knee (their sinne the more)
Whom Angels worship, & the Saints adore.
Of these hard-hearted and inhumaine men:
With purple cloth (aye me) in mockerie,
They cloath the flesh of this great God; and then
To him they bend the knee (their sinne the more)
Whom Angels worship, & the Saints adore.
See, see, from his deepe wounds out issues bloud,
Dying the purple Dye, more perfect red;
Woe's me that for my sin should spring that floud,
Great was his loue that so my comfort bred.
Dye (oh my God) make purple my hard heart,
So shall it cloath thy wounds, my sinne, thy smart.
Dying the purple Dye, more perfect red;
Woe's me that for my sin should spring that floud,
Great was his loue that so my comfort bred.
Dye (oh my God) make purple my hard heart,
So shall it cloath thy wounds, my sinne, thy smart.
Ego sum tus causa dolori.
| Pietatis Lachrymae Teares of deuotion | |