Sequence 85. St. Quintin

October 31ST.
COUNTLESS seeds spring up about us
From the fall of one seed, brought us
From the vale Gethsemane :
Life, for Christ, as victim given,
Decks earth's orb and vaulted heaven
As with roses gracefully.

Strength, to stay them and embolden,
Gives it, by the which upholden,
Men can pain of all kinds bear :
Neither fear they to be given, lo
As their food, to birds of heaven,
Hung suspended in the air.

Of them was the world not worthy ;
As, thus tortured, they endure the
Heat and burden of the day : 1 5
Sound in faith, stoned, sawn asunder.

They can die, but ne'er bend under
Slaughter's multiform array.

6o S. QUINTJNUS.
Hi certamen certant bonum
These have fought a good fight truly,
Who, that of Christ's sufferings fully
They might fill up what remained,
Bore, in sheepskins clad, to wander,
And a mind, still steadfast, under
Fortune's cruel lot maintained.

To escape this lot none ever
Less than Quintin did endeavour ;
Glorious Rome itself confest him ;
He, from fair stock there descended,
Toiled in Amiens, that, life ended,
He might in St. Quentin rest him.

Since Christ's easy yoke doth bless him,
Clamps and clanking chains compress him.

Kept in close incarceration ;
But God's Saint, both good and holy.

Triumphs o'er all torments throughly,
Famine, frost, and flagellation.

He is burnt with lighted torches.
Molten lead that bold mouth scorches,
Which their idols durst reprove :
Neither draught of lead can force him,
Nor can flaming torch coerce him.

To adore the heathen Jove.
'Neath his nails, by hard blows riven,
Are ten nails then deeply driven
By a huge four-sided spear :
From each shoulder downward slanted,
Iron spits behind are planted.

And his flesh like needles tear.
With sharp-pointed rakes they flay him,
Ploughing off his skin, and slay him
For that Word's sake by him sown :
Rudely are his anns too riven,
Till at last command is given,
And the fatal knife falls down.

From his precious head doth fly
Upward most mysteriously
What appeared a milk-white dove :
From the threshing-floor below
Is the winnowed grain borne now
To God's barn in heaven above.

Glory this man's grief and shame
Have produced ; that glory's fame
Alleluias to his name !