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The immovable earth beneath one's feet! one almost felt the movement, the respiration of God in it. What joy in that motion, the prospect, the music, the music of the spheres! he could listen to it in a perfection such as had never been conceded to Plato, to Pythagoras even. "Veni, Creator Spiritus, Mentes tuorum visita, Imple superna gratia, Quae tu creasti pectora!"
It is as follows: Disce, puer, virtutem ex me, verumque laborem; Fortunam ex aliis; nunc te mea dextera bello Defensum dabit, et magna inter praemia ducet. Tu facito, mox cum matura adoleverit aetas, Sis memor: et te animo repetentem exempla tuorum, Et pater Aeneas, et avunculus excitet Hector. Aeneid, xii.
We cannot conceive a higher idea of Grotius than the celebrated Gerard Vossius entertained, as appears from the beautiful poem written by him in honour of his friend: we would give it at length if it were not too long, but we cannot omit the last stanza: Felici omine dicte magne, quid te Sol majus videt? ô decus tuorum, Delfi gloria, Patrii Deique amores, Splendor inclute, Belgices ocelle, Orbis delicium, Deique amores!
. . . I read a letter of Cicero's to his friend Valerius, this morning, in which he urges him to come and see him, saying that he wants to have a pleasant time with him, tecum jocari,-and says, "When you come this way, don't go down to your Apulia," to wit, Cummington. Nam si illo veneris, tanquam Ulysses, cognosces tuorum neminem.
Such a blind shot with the sharp dart of longing love may never fail of the prick, the which is God, as Himself saith in the book of love, where He speaketh to a languishing soul and a loving, saying thus: Vulnerasti cor meum, soror mea, amica mea, et sponsa mea, vulnerasti cor meum, in uno oculorum tuorum: "Thou hast wounded mine heart, my sister, my leman, and my spouse, thou hast wounded mine heart in one of thine eyes."
And all this while the choristers sung to the organ, and the organ responded. And when the body was laid upon the altar, the Abbot said the verse Mirabilis Deus, and the prayer Magnifuet te Domine sanctorum tuorum beaia solemnitas. And when this was done he went and disrobed himself of his sacred vestments.
And from that to his orisons, and then to his tools with a little bit of courage, and this was his day's work: Veni, Creator Spiritus, Mentes tuorem visita, Imple superna gratia Quae tu creasti pectora Accende lumen sensibus, Mentes tuorum visita, Infirma nostri corporis, Virtute firmans perpeti.
Why, one almost felt the movement, the respiration, of God in it. What joy in that motion, in the prospect, the music! "The music of the spheres!" he could listen to it in a perfection such as had never been conceded to Plato, to Pythagoras even. Veni, Creator Spiritus, Mentes tuorum visita, Imple superna gratia, Quae tu creasti pectora.+ Yes!
An ivory bookmark told him the page. Nones. He should have read that before lunch. But lady Maxwell had come. Father Conmee read in secret Pater and Ave and crossed his breast. Deus in adiutorium. He walked calmly and read mutely the nones, walking and reading till he came to Res in Beati immaculati: Principium verborum tuorum veritas: in eternum omnia indicia iustitiae tuae.
"Dulcis agonista tibi convertit domus ista Pancrati memorum precibus memor esto tuorum."
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