Mediaeval Hymns and Sequences/Coenam cum Discipulis
Cœnam cum Discipulis.
The following prose is from the Salisbury Missal: and occurs in the Mass of the Five Wounds. Daniel found it in the same Mass in a Missal of the Augustinian hermits. In both editions it is exceedingly corrupt. It may safely be referred to the twelfth century. The very great difficulty of the measure, taken in connection with the exquisite simplicity of the original, (which under any circumstances it would have been difficult) and in these it is almost impossible to preserve,) made me hesitate as to including it in the present collection. But though much of the melody, and more, I fear, of the simple fervour may have been lost, I still think that it may not be without its value to English readers.
At the Supper with the Twelve
Thou, O Christ, wast seated;
And hadst prophesied Thy Death
Soon to be completed;
And hadst pointed Judas out
By the morsel meted:
And unto Gethsemane,
After, hadst retreated.
Prostrate fell the Lord of all
Where He had proceeded;
That the cup might pass away
Earnestly He pleaded:
But unto His Father's Will
That His own conceded:
And forthwith a Sweat of Blood
O'er His Members speeded.
After that the Traitor's Kiss
Judas came to proffer:
"Wherefore com'st thou, frind?" the Lord
Saith unto the scoffer:
"Thou to Him Whom thou hast sold
Salutation offer?
Thou, who hadst the price of Blood
From His murderers' coffer?"
All the weary livelong night
Neither rest nor sleeping:
Armed bands of soldiery
Watch round Jesus keeping:
Priests and Scribes upon His Head
Foul reproaches heaping:
Who might see the Spotless Lamb,
And refrain from weeping?
Pilate strives to free the Lord
From the bands that tie Him;
But the voices of the Jews
More and more defy him;
And the tumult waxes still
Loud and louder nigh him:
And the people's fiercer cry
Thunders,—"Crucify Him!"
With the soldiers, straitly bound,
Forth the Saviour fareth:
Over all His holy Form
Bleeding Wounds He beareth;
He a Crown of woven thorns,
King of Glory, weareth:
And each one, with bended knee,
Fresher taunts prepareth.
They Thy mild and tender Flesh,
O Redeemer, baring,
To the column bind Thee fast
For the scourge preparing:
Thus the Ransom of our peace
Cruel stripes are tearing,
As the streams that flow therefrom
Fully are declaring.
After passed He through the street
As the morn grew older:
And the heavy bitter Cross
Bare He on His Shoulder:
Thronged the windows and the doors
Many a rude beholder;
But He found no comforter
There, and no upholder.
Him, in open sight of men
Manifestly shaming,
To the wind and cold they bare,
Utmost insults framing:
Guiltless, on the Cross they lift
With transgressors naming,
Him, as midmost of the three,
Chief of all proclaiming.
On the wood His Arms are stretched,
And His Hands are riven:
Through the tender Flesh of Christ
Mighty nails are driven;
In like wise His blessed Feet
Are to torture given,
As the Hands that had so oft
In our battle striven.
Streams of Blood are trickling down
From those holy sources:
Hither! weak and sinful soul!
And renew thy forces:
This the medicine, that shall cure
Terrors and remorses;
This the writing, that for us
Freedom's deed endorses.
Then the Lord exclaimed,—"I thirst!"
(Meet did Scripture make it:)
On a reed they raise the sponge
To the lips that spake it:
Vinegar and gall they give
To His thirst to slake it:
Which when He had tasted of,
He refused to take it.
Jesu, wondrous to the last!
What was Thine intention ?
Thou wast silent of the Cross,
But of thirst mad'st mention:
Not that this Thou feltest more
Than that bitter tension:
But that thirst Thou wouldst express
For lost man's invention.
Calling on Thy Father's Name
Thy last breath was spended:
And Thy Spirit in His Hands
Gently was commended:
With a loud and mighty cry
Then Thy Head was bended:
And the work, that brought Thee down,
Of Salvation ended.
But by heart and thought of man
That is past conceiving
How the Virgin Mother's soul
Inmostly was grieving
When the soldier's bitter lance
That dear Side was cleaving:
Cruel mark upon His frame
Of its passage leaving.
That blest form could feel no more
Whence had life departed:
'Twas the Mother's anguished soul
'Neath the Wound that smarted:
When she marked how through His side
That sharp lance was darted;
And the streams of Water thence
And of Blood that started.
Wherefore, sinner, haste to these
Fountains of salvation:
Life thou mayest draw therefrom
And illumination:
Cure thou mayest find for sin,
Strength to meet temptation:
Refuge may'st thou gain against
Satan's condemnation.