AMBROSE.
It would appear that the Ambrosian hymns obtained much of their earliest
recognition in Spain. At least so runs the statement of Cardinal
Thomasius, who edited the Mozarabic (Spanish) Breviary. He says: “It is
not doubtful that in the seventh century of the Church, when the Spanish
Church especially flourished, the Ambrosian hymns were everywhere in
vogue.” The _Concilium Agathense_ (Council of Agde in Southern France,
A.D. 506), which concerned itself chiefly with matters of discipline,
ordained that hymns should be sung morning and evening, and at the
conclusion of matins, vespers, and masses. These and similar enactments
had reference to the body of hymns which had received the name of the
Bishop of Milan. Then, as now, they formed the true fragrant cedar-heart
of the old psalmody, and it is from their structure that the Council of
Toledo (633) drew its famous definition. The Council said: “_Proprie
autem hymni sunt continentes laudem Dei. Si ergo sit laus, et non sit
Dei, non est hymnus. Si sit et laus Dei laus_ [_sic_] _et non cantatur
non est hymnus. Si ergo laudem Dei dicitur et cantatur, tunc est
hymnus._” That is to say: “Hymns properly contain the praise of God. If
therefore there be praise, but not of God, this is no hymn. If there be
praise, praise of God, but not capable of being sung, this is no hymn.
If therefore the praise of God be both composed and sung, it is then a
hymn.”
The author who is thus honored as the first great leader of the Church’s
praise was born at Treves, in Gaul, about the year 340 (or, as some say,
334). His father was a Roman noble who became praetorian prefect of the
province of Gallia Narbonensis; and as Hither Gaul was an important
region, it can be easily seen that the young Ambrose was reared in the
midst of wealth and power. His mother was a learned woman and he
naturally imbibed letters as he grew up. A tradition, which is probably
based on fact, assures us that even in his cradle he was marked for
fame. A swarm of bees came down upon him, and the amazed nurse saw them
clustered about his very mouth without harming him. This was the same
prodigy which had been related of Plato, and hence his parents imagined
a high destiny for the lad. It was indeed a singular and suggestive
commentary on his future life. He preserved his equanimity amid a great
deal of buzzing; and the sweetness of his speech won to him no less a
convert than the great Augustine. His entire career was worthy of the
sainted Sotheria, his ancestress, who was martyred for the faith under
Diocletian.
He appears to us a man of both character and conscience. His education
was given him at Rome, and his brother Satyrus and himself went to Milan
to practice at the bar. His success as a pleader was great. He became
first assessor to the prefect with the rank of _Consularis_, whose
headquarters were now at Milan; and subsequently he took charge of
Liguria and Emilia. For in 369 we find him, by appointment of the
Emperor Valentinian, prefect of Upper Italy and Milan. His position is
sometimes styled that of “consular,” sometimes that of “governor,” and
sometimes that of “praetor” or imperial president, which last perhaps
the easiest designation for modern ears and carries the plainest meaning
with it.
Now Milan was the capital of Liguria and it was the business of the
praetor to preside in the stead of the Emperor over the choice of a
bishop. Auxentius, an Arian, who had held this office, died in 374 and a
new election was necessary. This was not an easy matter, for the feud
between the Catholics and the Arians was at fever-heat, and rioting and
bloodshed were very certain to occur.
The praetor called to mind the advice of Probus, prefect of Italy, who
had once charged him to administer the affairs of his region “like a
bishop.” He therefore tried to cast oil upon the waters. His genial
gravity and calm serenity of spirit aided the impression he meant to
produce. Both factions gazed upon him with delight. His attitude was so
unpartisan as to charm everybody, and it was very natural that this
eloquent representative of the Emperor should carry the suffrages of the
throng. And just when the interest was most intense and the confidence
greatest, a child cried out, “Let Ambrose be bishop,” and the crowd
caught the contagion at once.
In later days it was maliciously said that Ambrose had himself contrived
this scene with an eye to the stage effect—that for all his apparent
humility the coming bishop set store by the office and wanted to obtain
it—that, in short, his reluctance to receive it and even his precipitate
flight from the city were prearranged! More than this, it has been
asserted that the various schemes and subterfuges to avoid becoming
bishop were known to and abetted by his friends, who were of the
orthodox party and desired to have their candidate elected. The best
reply that can be given is the character of the man himself. Such a
person must have entertained the highest reverence for such an office.
In his administration of its cares and duties he showed a conscious
supremacy over every worldly consideration. In his final acceptance of
it he evinced no less of self-denial than of sincerity. And it is
incredible that so mighty a mind as that of Augustine could have been
caught by the glittering emptiness of a hypocritical or self-seeking
nature. We may well charge these calumnies to their proper
sources—those, namely, of disappointed ambition or of envious malignity.
The record of this endeavor to escape office reads singularly enough. He
first put some criminals to the torture, hoping by this means to shock
the people through his hard-hearted justice. When this would not do he
avowed philosophic rather than Christian sentiments. Having again
failed, he welcomed some very profligate persons—men and women—to his
palace in a way to invite scandal. This expedient being also detected he
actually escaped from the city by night, but lost his way and found
himself in front of the gates when morning dawned. This being his fourth
unavailing effort, he fled to a friend’s house in the country, begging
that he might lie hidden there until the first rush of feeling had been
stemmed and he could hope for calmer consideration of his refusal. But
the friend immediately betrayed him for his own good, and this
well-meant treachery fastened the mitre firmly on his brow. Basil the
Great gloried in this new coadjutor; and at the age of thirty-four or
thereabouts, he himself became convinced that he could struggle no
longer against his fate.
It was thus that Ambrose finally assumed the episcopate, and it was soon
evident that this catechumen—for he had not even been previously
baptized—respected its dignities and meant that others should be of the
same mind as himself. He gave up his private fortune, selling his large
estates and personal property, and reserving from them only a proper
allowance to his sister Marcellina, who had early taken the vow of
virginity. He associated with this proceeding the most strict method of
living. “He accepted no invitations to banquets; took dinner only on
Sunday, Saturday, and the festivals of celebrated martyrs; devoted the
greater part of the night to prayer, to the hitherto necessarily
neglected study of the Scriptures and the Greek fathers and to
theological writing; preached every Sunday and often in the week; was
accessible to all, most accessible to the poor and needy; and
administered his spiritual oversight, particularly his instruction of
catechumens, with the greatest fidelity.”
This is the character, admirably condensed, of a model bishop. To its
fulfilment it requires the fervent piety of a true Christian and the
constant zeal of an acute student together with the large prudence of a
man of affairs. All these are abundantly found in Ambrose. And if it
happened that in other and worse times his assertion of the spiritual
independence of a bishop gave a foundation for what became the authority
of the pope, it may be properly retorted that for him not to have done
so then would have prevented many another better thing in later ages.
He was a more polished scholar than Hilary, and a more devout Christian
than Damasus. Hence it was that his energy and skill contributed largely
to the success of the Nicene orthodoxy in the West. Those times were
troublous, and a cheerful and sunshiny temper like that of Ambrose was a
vast auxiliary to the cause. He had been consecrated in 374, eight days
after his election; and in 382 he presided at the synod in Aquileia
which deposed Palladius and Secundianus, the Arian bishops. By so doing,
and by his general attitude, he incurred the anger of Justina, whose
son, the younger Valentinian, he always upheld and shielded. The
Empress, however, determined to deal with him a good deal as Ahab’s wife
dealt with Elijah. This comparison takes additional point from the use
which Ambrose himself made of the story of Naboth in his defence of the
Portian Church.
He had already encountered the smouldering idolatry of old Rome, headed
by the rhetorician, Symmachus; but the eloquence of Ambrose had borne
down all opposition and that conflict was now at an end. A vindictive
woman was, however, a greater danger than a clever orator, and he found
this true when Justina, the Empress-mother, allied herself with the
heretical Arians. His pious zeal was kindled in a moment. Give up
churches to such a schismatic set as these? _Never!_
It was at Easter in the year 386 that the Portian Church and its holy
vessels were demanded for the use of the other party. Then stood up both
the old Roman and the new Christian in the single person of the Bishop
of Milan. He compared the demand to that of Ahab for Naboth’s vineyard;
and it may well be supposed that with the rush of such a torrent of
speech a current of inference was also borne along which involved
Justina herself. The sermon, which has survived to us, was preached on
Palm Sunday, and in it he said that he would hold every religious
edifice against heresy to the very death. Let them take his property;
let them depose or destroy himself; let them do their worst—but for his
part he would stand there unshaken for the truth. He would not incite
riot and confusion, but he would not yield. It was the anticipation of
Luther’s “_Hier stehe ich, ich kann nicht anders! Gott helfe mir!_” For
Ambrose proclaimed, almost in these actual words, “Here I stand, I
cannot do otherwise. God help me!”
He made one magnificent point in this discourse—the focal centre it was
of the entire outburst of eloquent declamation. It was when he quoted
what our Lord Himself had said. “Yes,” cries Ambrose, “give to Caesar
what is Caesar’s, but give to God what is God’s. Is the Church the
property of Caesar? Never! It belongs unalterably to God. For God, then,
it shall be kept. It shall never be surrendered to Caesar.”
The fight was really a siege. The sacred character of the churches
protected their defenders. Ambrose invigorated the multitude who flocked
to help him, and who organized relief parties to keep possession by day
and by night. To relieve the monotony of their watches, he frequently
addressed them words of encouragement. His fine equanimity triumphed
over the impending disaster. He taught the people there and then the
hymns of the early Church. He composed tunes and instructed them in
singing. And when at last he was able to discover the bodies of
Gervasius and Protasius, the ancient martyrs, he kindled in the spirits
of his hearers such a fire that the popular voice was heeded even by the
throne itself, and Justina was defeated and gave up the struggle. The
court actually retreated before the authority of the Church. And from
that moment, and that other memorable moment when he arraigned
Theodosius, Ambrose delivered the power of the bishop’s crozier from any
interference coming from the Emperor’s sceptre. Those were the days when
the pastoral staff might be of wood, but the man who wielded it was of
pure gold.
This account needs the story of Theodosius to be immediately attached to
it in order to make it stand out in its true relation to the character
of Ambrose. The bishop met three great enemies during his career. First
appeared Idolatry, championed by Symmachus; then followed Heresy,
championed by Justina; and now came Despotism, behind which stood the
beloved Theodosius, the Emperor-pupil, with his hands red from the
massacre of Thessalonica. The facts were these: a tumult had arisen in
the circus at that place; Botheric, an imperial officer, had been
killed; and the Emperor had in revenge put very many people to death.
Some have even run the figures up to the incredible altitude of thirty
thousand, and the massacre has been always regarded as involving seven
thousand victims at the lowest estimate. It was a brutal and a horrible
act, and Ambrose came out as Nathan did before David and denounced it
with the most withering reproaches. The Emperor cowered and bent before
this sirocco of the truth. The speaker was poised so high above him in
the assured calm of a steady rectitude that Theodosius could do nothing
except yield. And yield he did; and for eight months he paid penance
before he was restored. It was the penance of the German Henry which
hastened the Reformation; it was the humiliation of Theodosius which
preserved both rights and dignities to the Church.
There is another side of Ambrose, and one on which Protestants will love
to dwell. While his great disciple Augustine lent the weight of his
authority to the doctrine that civil constraint might be used to bring
men to orthodox beliefs, Ambrose always denounced that. When Valentinian
II. sent him to Trier to negotiate with the rebel Maximus, in the winter
of 383-84, Ambrose—like his contemporary, Martin of Tours—refused to
have any communion with the bishops who recognized Maximus as Emperor,
not on political grounds, but because they had obtained the execution of
certain Spanish Priscillianists for heresy. This was the first
blood-stain on the white garments of the Church—the first in the long
line of such sins against the Word and Spirit of Christ. Yet Adrian VI.
appealed to it as a precedent against Luther, and described the usurper
as one of “the ancient and pious emperors.” In this he followed the
example of his infallible predecessor, Leo I., who, in 447, declared
there would be an end of all law, human and divine, if such heretics
were allowed to live!
As an orator and writer, Ambrose’s strength lay in the simple direct
plunge of his sentences, wide and grand and forceful as the launching of
a great bowlder down a mountain path. And Mr. Simcox has noticed that
the words which are used to describe his rhetorical power are almost all
derived from _eloqui_. The other assemblage of expressions, drawn from
_disertus_ and the like, refer to the logical or learned weight of an
argument. But what struck every one in the case of Ambrose was that he
let the truth come mightily, just as he felt and believed it, with a
swing and a vigor which was the outburst of his own majestic soul. It
was this which won his victories. It was this power of sincerity which
made him the counsellor of Theodosius and the instructor of Gratian as
well as the guardian of Valentinian II. It was this unshrinking
forwardness of movement which led him to oppose the rebuilding of the
Jews’ synagogue; they had denied the Lord Jesus—let their house burn!
But a victory more Christian was gained when thirty days of respite were
fixed by his intercession between the sentence and execution of
criminals. And although the defence of “Virginity,” as Ambrose conducted
it, was the mainspring of the conventual idea, and was afterward
vigorously used for that purpose, it is again plain that he advocated
what he believed and what he himself devoutly practised. He shines upon
us, from every angle of vision, as a character most pure, serene, and
brave.
The siege in the basilica at Milan had an important bearing on the whole
future of the Christian Church. Augustine tells us how his mother Monica
had followed him to Milan, and how when there “she hastened the more
eagerly to the church and hung upon the lips of Ambrose.” (_Aug. Conf._,
B. vi.) “That man,” he continues, “she loved as an angel of God because
she knew that by him I had been brought to that doubtful state of faith
I now was in.” She evidently anticipated that so eloquent a preacher
would complete the work that he had been permitted to begin. As for
Augustine himself, he felt “shut out both from his ear and speech by
multitudes of busy people whose weaknesses he served.”
How finely, by the way, this very expression illustrates the greatness
of Ambrose’s character and the unselfishness of his life! We get also a
picture of the man as a student—one whose voice would become worn by any
extended public speaking, and who therefore read to himself in his
private studies in a manner unusual apparently in that age—namely, as we
do now, without opening his lips or articulating the words. The effect
of Justina’s persecution is also given most graphically. (_Aug. Conf._,
B. ix.) For Augustine, having first told us how these heavenly voices
fell upon his ear, says that his mother “bore a chief part of those
anxieties and watchings” and “lived for prayer.” At this date, he
emphatically declares, “it was first instituted that after the manner of
the Eastern churches, hymns and psalms should be sung lest the people
should wax faint through the tediousness of sorrow; and from that day to
this the custom is retained, divers (yea, almost all) congregations
throughout other parts of the world following herein.” It is he,
moreover, who tells us that the two martyrs’ bodies were transferred to
that Ambrosian church erected in 387, and where afterward were placed
the bones of its great founder; which was spared by Barbarossa in 1162,
and which, as the church of San Ambrogio, still occupies its old site in
Milan. Thus we have the most important of contemporary testimony to some
of these troublous scenes.
Of the Ambrosian hymns themselves a great deal may be said. It is better
to confine one’s self rather, therefore, to results than to the long
processes which have led thither. But it is impossible to agree with Dr.
Neale and Archbishop Trench, who say of them that “there is a certain
coldness in them—an aloofness of the author from his subject.” This is
one of those bits of critical misapprehension which lead us to doubt the
infallibility of even so admirable a judgment as that of the warden of
Sackville College. The truth is that Dr. Neale admired gorgeousness and
the splendor of ritual. He praises the _Pange lingua_ of Aquinas
altogether too much and he praises Ambrose altogether too little. A
simple and reverent spirit cannot be said to experience, as he does, a
“feeling of disappointment” before this which he calls “an altar of
unhewn stone.” This single phrase exposes the delusion. “_Unhewn_ stone”
is not to Dr. Neale’s nor to Archbishop Trench’s churchly taste, while
it is precisely upon such an altar as that (Ex. 20:25) that God was
ready to let His flame descend. The latest judgment—that of Mr.
Simcox—(_Latin Literature_, vol. ii., 405) is decidedly preferable:
“They all have the character of deep, spontaneous feeling, flowing in a
clear, rhythmical current, and show a more genuine literary feeling than
the prose works.” To any one who is at all familiar with the Ambrosian
hymns this will at once commend itself as the better criticism.
We may pause a moment to inquire about the chants which bear his name,
but we shall have slight enough information. Four tunes are traditional:
the Dorian, Phrygian, Lydian, and Mixed Lydian. What these were and how
they were sung, we do not accurately know. We do know, however, that
Ambrose employed but four notes (the _tetrachord_) where we have
subdivided the various tones into the octave. The Germans do not profess
to tell us anything more definite than this.
The actual hymns are to be reckoned up in several ways. First comes the
mass of _Ambrosiani_, including hymns of Gregory the Great and of other
and much later authors. Many have been foisted into this category
because they were found in old breviaries and manuscripts. Then from
these we may separate the _presumed originals_—of which a large
proportion are now known to belong to other writers. These
misapprehensions are due to such compilers as Fabricius, Cassander,
Clichtove, and Thomasius, who were not invariably correct and who
perpetuated their designations through later works. Still a third class
are the _possible originals_, selected by the judicious but not always
accurate zeal of the Benedictines of St. Maur when they edited the
collected works of the great bishop. And last of all can be placed the
_probable originals_—those hymns which are authenticated by Augustine
and by St. Caelestin (A.D. 430), together with those in structure
closely resembling them.
For our own purposes a fifth class can even yet be formed from the last
named group—the _undoubted originals_, which will comprise only those
attested by contemporary authority.
The list would stand then in the order of authenticity, about as
follows:
I.
Attested by St Augustine.
_Deus Creator omnium_,
_Aeterne rerum conditor_,
_Jam surgit hora tertia, Qua_
Referred to directly by St. Caelestin.
_Veni Redemptor gentium._
These are the _undoubted_ hymns and the only hymns to be safely assigned
to Ambrose.
II.
_Aeterna Christi numera, et martyrum_,
_Illuminans altissimus_,
_Orabo mente dominum_,
(from _Bis ternas horas_,)
_Splendor paternae gloriae_.
These are the _probable_ hymns.
III.
_Apostolorum passio_,
_Conditor alme siderum_,
_Consors paterni luminis_,
_Hic est dies verus Dei_,
_Jam lucis orto sidere_,
_Nunc sancte nobis Spiritus_,
_O lux beata Trinitas_,
_Obduxere polum nubila coeli_,
_O rex aeterne domine_,
_Rector potens, verax Deus_,
_Rerum Deus tenax vigor_,
_Somno refectis artubus_,
_Squalent arva soli pulvere multo_,
_Summae Deus clementiae_,
_Tristes erant apostoli_.
These have, for one reason or another, been assigned to Ambrose. It is
to be remembered that the _Tristes erant_ is a part of the _Aurora lucis
rutilat_, and that in many cases the hymns are very much intermingled. A
rigid designation is therefore impossible. The fourth class comprehends
what may be called _Ambrosiani_—the Sedulian and Gregorian and other
hymns being simply excluded from the list.
IV.
_Aeternae lucis conditor_,
_Agnis beatae virginis_,
_Apostolorum supparem_,
_A solis ortus cardine Et usque_,
_Aurora lucis rutilat_,
_Bis ternas horas explicans_,
_Certum tenentes ordinem_,
_Christe coelorum conditor_,
_Christe cunctorum dominator alme_,
_Christe qui lux es et dies_,
_Christe rex coeli domine_,
_Christe redemptor gentium_,
_Cibis resumptis congruis_,
_Coeli Deus sanctissime_,
_Convexa solis orbita_,
_Dei fide, qua vivimus_,
_Deus aeterni luminis_,
_Deus qui certis legibus_,
_Deus qui claro lumine_,
_Deus qui coeli lumen es_,
_Dicamus laudes Domino_,
_Diei luce reddita_,
_Fulgentis auctor aetheris_,
_Gesta sanctorum martyrum_,
_Grates tibi Jesu novas_,
_Hymnum dicamus Domino_,
_Immense coeli conditor_,
_Jam cursus horae sextae_,
_Jam lucis splendor rutilat_,
_Jam sexta sensim volvitur_,
_Jam surgit hora tertia, Et nos_,
_Jam ter quaternis trahitur_,
_Jesu corona celsior_,
_Jesu corona virginum_,
_Jesu nostra redemptio_,
_Magnae Deus potentiae_,
_Magni palmam certaminis_,
_Mediae noctis tempus est_,
_Meridie orandum est_,
_Miraculum laudabile_,
_Mysteriorum signifer_,
_Mysterium ecclesiae_,
_Nox atra rerum contegit_,
_Optatus votis omnium_,
_Perfectum trinum numerum_,
_Plasmator hominis Deus_,
_Post matutinas laudes_,
_Rerum creator optime_,
_Sacratum hoc templum Dei_,
_Saevus bella serit barbarus horrens_,
_Stephano primo martyri_,
_Telluris ingens conditor_,
_Te lucis ante termium_,
_Tempus noctis surgentibus_,
_Ter hora trina volvitur_,
_Ternis ter horis numerus_,
_Tristes nunc populi, Christe redemptor_,
_Tu Trinitatis unitas_,
_Verbum supernum prodiens, a Patre_,
_Victor, Nabor, Felix pii_,
_Vox clara ecce intonat_.
While these are often known to be mere paraphrases of Ambrose’s own
homilies, or imitations of his hymns, they are as frequently found to
possess his spirit and almost the very forms of his verse. Thus Daniel
says of the _Ter hora trina_ that it is “not unworthy of Ambrose
himself.” We also find many cases where the Roman Breviary has altered
the first line as well as changed the arrangement of the stanzas.
The last class are those hymns, formerly called Ambrosian, but now known
to be the work of other hands. They are given with their authors’ names
appended.
V.
_Ad coenam Agni providi_.(_Ad An ancient hymn, older possibly than
regias Agni_.) Ambrose or Hilary.
_Aeterna Christi unmera nos_. A mediaeval patchwork.
_Aeterna coeli gloria_. An Abcedary of later date.
_Agathae sanctae virginis_. Found at Milan among Ambrosian hymns.
_Almi prophetae progenies_. Time of Ennodius, sixth century.
_Amore Christi nobilis_. Versification of Ambrose on the
Incarnation, cap. 3.
_A solis ortus cardine, Ad “An Abcedary arranged by
usque_. Sedulius.”—Neale.
_Aurora jam spargit polum_. “Incognitus auctor.”—Cassander.
_Bellator armis inclytus_. “Ein altes Lied.”—Mone.
_Ex more docti
mystico_.—Gregory.
_Fit porta Christi pervia_. Part of _A solis ortus_.—Sedulius.
_Jam Christus astra ascenderat_. —Gregory.
_Lucis creator optime_. —Gregory.
Here, then, we have what may be called substantially the earliest
hymn-book of the Latin Church. Of course there were other hymns which
were very soon separated and properly assigned, but not until the
fifteenth century was any intelligent analysis attempted, and it is even
now—as can be easily seen—a matter not of dogmatic certainty, but of
scholarly authority and inherent probability. It may not be improper to
add, however, that in these hymns we find some of the purest and most
pious of praises. The _honor_ of the Virgin Mother and of the saints has
not yet been attempted. The martyrs, Stephen and Agnes and Agatha, are
alone mentioned, if we except an occasional and somewhat doubtful
tribute to others. These are hymns of worship and of prayer—of adoration
and of fellowship.
As a handful of grain from a great granary, here are four versions of
hymns counted as among Ambrose’s best:
DEUS CREATOR OMNIUM.
Maker of all, the Lord,
And ruler in the height,
Thy care doth robe the day in peace,
Thou givest sleep by night.
Let rest refresh our limbs
For toil, though wearied now,
And let our troubled minds be calm,
And smooth the anxious brow.
We sing our thanks, for day
Is gone and night appears;
Our vows and prayers in contrite hope
Are lifted to thine ears.
To thee the deepest soul,
To thee the tuneful voice,
To thee the chaste affections turn,
In thee our minds rejoice.
That when black depths of gloom
Have hid the day from sight,
Our faith may tread no darkening path,
And night by faith be bright.
And let no slumber seize
That mind which must not sleep,
Whose faith must keep its virtue fresh,
Whose dreams may not be deep.
When sensual things are done
Our loftiest thought is thine,
Nor fear of unseen enemies
Can break such peace divine.
To Christ and to the Father now,
And to the Spirit equally,
We pray for every favoring gift,
One God supreme, a Trinity.
SPLENDOR PATERNAE GLORIAE.
O splendor of the Father’s face,
Affording light from light,
Thou Light of light, thou fount of grace,
Thou day of day most bright.
O shine upon us, perfect Sun,
With lasting brightness shine;
Let radiance from the Spirit run,
Our senses to refine.
To thee, our Father, do we pray,
Whose glory endeth not,
That thine almighty favor may
Remove each sinful spot.
He fills our deeds with heavenly strength,
He blunts the look of hate,
He ends our weary lot at length,
Or gives us grace to wait.
HIC EST DIES VERUS DEI.
This is the very day of God,
Serene with holy light,
On which the pure atoning blood
Has cleansed the world aright.
Restoring hope to lost mankind,
Enlightening darkened eyes,
Relieving fear in us who find
The thief in Paradise.
Who, changing swiftly cross for crown,
By one brief glance of trust,
Beheld God’s Kingdom shining down,
And followed Christ the Just.
The very angels stand amazed,
Beholding such a sight,
And such a trusting sinner raised
To blessed life and light.
O mystery beyond our thought,
To take earth’s stain away,
And lift the burden sin hath brought,
And cleanse this coarser clay.
What deed can more sublime appear?
For sorrow seeks for grace,
And love releases mortal fear,
And death renews the race.
Death seizes on the bitter barb,
And binds herself thereto,
And life is clad in deathly garb,
And life shall rise anew.
When death through earth has made her path,
Then all the dead shall rise,
And death, consumed by heavenly wrath,
In groans, and lonely, dies.
O LUX BEATA TRINITAS.
O blessed light, the Trinity,
In Unity of primal love—
Now that the burning sun has gone,
Our hearts illumine from above.
Thee, in the morn with songs of praise,
Thee, at the evening time, we seek;
Thee, through all ages we adore,
And, suppliant of thy love, we speak.
To God the Father be the praise,
And to his sole-begotten Son,
And to the Blessed Comforter,
Both now and while all time shall run.
The closing scenes in the life of the great bishop were such as became
his past. His funeral address over his brother Satyrus is like that of
Bernard over his brother Gerard, or like that of Melanchthon above the
dead Luther. His eulogy of Theodosius, whom he survived but two years,
is conceived in a strain of lofty poetry, several paragraphs opening
with the repeated phrase _Dilexi virum illum._ I loved that man!
Ambrose died on the night after Good Friday, A.D. 397. Paulinus, his
biographer, was taking notes of the commentary pronounced by his dying
master on the 43d psalm. It was a scene like that at the deathbed of the
Venerable Bede. The failing bishop said that he heard angelic voices and
saw the smiling face of Christ; and the reverent scribe avows that the
face which looked on his own was bright, and that around that aged head
shone until the very last an aureole of glory.
Let us allow much charity to the miracles and to the superstition of
that time, but let us also remember the gravity and sweetness of the
poet-bishop. For it is no wonder that when he lay in state in the great
cathedral with quiet, upturned face, little children were moved by his
gentle dignity of countenance and men and women, affected by this holy
presence, put away their sins, and were baptized as followers of the
dead man’s faith.