The Poetry Corner

Hymn For The Burial Of The Dead (Hymnus Ad Exequias Defuncti)

By Aurelius Clemens Prudentius

Newly Translated Into English Verse By R. Martin Pope is below this original. Hymnus Ad Exequias Defuncti Deus ignee fons animarum, duo qui socians elementa vivum simul ac moribundum hominem Pater effigiasti: Tua sunt, tua rector utraque, tibi copula iungitur horum, tibi, dum vegetata cohaerent, et spiritus et caro servit. Rescissa sed ista seorsum solvunt hominera perimuntque, humus excipit arida corpus, animae rapit aura liquorem. Quia cuncta creata necesse est labefacta senescere tandem, conpactaque dissociari, et dissona texta retexi. Hanc tu, Deus optime, mortem famulis abolere paratus iter inviolabile monstras, quo perdita membra resurgant: Ut, dum generosa caducis ceu carcere clausa ligantur, pars illa potentior extet, quae germen ab aethere traxit. Si terrea forte voluntas luteum sapit et grave captat, animus quoque pondere victus sequitur sua membra deorsum. At si generis memor ignis contagia pigra recuset, vehit hospita viscera secum, pariterque reportat ad astra. Nam quod requiescere corpus vacuum sine mente videmus, spatium breve restat, ut alti repetat conlegia sensus. Venient cito secula, cum iam socius calor ossa revisat animataque sanguine vivo habitacula pristina gestet. Quae pigra cadavera pridem tumulis putrefacta iacebant, volucres rapientur in auras animas comitata priores. Hinc maxima cura sepulcris inpenditur: hinc resolutos honor ultimus accipit artus et funeris ambitus ornat. Candore nitentia claro praetendere lintea mos est, adspersaque myrrha Sabaeo corpus medicamine servat. Quidnam sibi saxa cavata, quid pulchra volunt monumenta, nisi quod res creditur illis non mortua, sed data somno? Hoc provida Christicolarum pietas studet, utpote credens fore protinus omnia viva, quae nunc gelidus sopor urget. Qui iacta cadavera passim miserans tegit aggere terrae, opus exhibet ille benignum Christo pius omnipotenti: Quin lex eadem monet omnes gemitum dare sorte sub una, cognataque funera nobis aliena in morte dolere. Sancti sator ille Tobiae sacer ac venerabilis heros, dapibus iam rite paratis ius praetulit exequiarum. Iam stantibus ille ministris cyathos et fercula liquit, studioque accinctus humandi fleto dedit ossa sepulcro. Veniunt mox praemia caelo pretiumque rependitur ingens: nam lumina nescia solis Deus inlita felle serenat. Iam tunc docuit Pater orbis, quam sit rationis egenis mordax et amara medela, cum lux animum nova vexat. Docuit quoque non prius ullum caelestia cernere regna, quam nocte et vulnere tristi toleraverit aspera mundi. Mors ipsa beatior inde est, quod per cruciamina leti via panditur ardua iustis et ad astra doloribus itur. Sic corpora mortificata redeunt melioribus annis, nec post obitum recalescens conpago fatiscere novit. Haec, quae modo pallida tabo color albidus inficit ora, tunc flore venustior omni sanguis cute tinget amoena. Iam nulla deinde senectus frontis decus invida carpet, macies neque sicca lacertos suco tenuabit adeso. Morbus quoque pestifer, artus qui nunc populatur anhelos, sua tunc tormenta resudans luet inter vincula mille. Hunc eminus aere ab alto victrix caro iamque perennis cernet sine fine gementem quos moverat ipse dolores. Quid turba superstes inepta clangens ululamina miscet, cur tam bene condita iura luctu dolor arguit amens? Iam maesta quiesce querela, lacrimas suspendite matres, nullus sua pignora plangat, mors haec reparatio vitae est. Sic semina sicca virescunt iam mortua iamque sepulta, quae reddita caespite ab imo veteres meditantur aristas. Nunc suscipe terra fovendum, gremioque hunc concipe molli: hominis tibi membra sequestro generosa et fragmina credo. Animae fuit haec domus olim factoris ab ore creatae, fervens habitavit in istis sapientia principe Christo. Tu depositum tege corpus, non inmemor illa requiret sua munera fictor et auctor propriique aenigmata vultus. Veniant modo tempora iusta, cum spem Deus inpleat omnem; reddas patefacta necesse est, qualem tibi trado figuram. Non, si cariosa vetustas dissolverit ossa favillis, fueritque cinisculus arens minimi mensura pugilli. Nec, si vaga flamina et aurae vacuum per inane volantes tulerint cum pulvere nervos, hominem periisse licebit. Sed dum resolubile corpus revocas, Deus, atque reformas, quanam regione iubebis animam requiescere puram? Gremio senis addita sancti recubabit, ut est Eleazar, quem floribus undique septum Dives procul adspicit ardens. Sequimur tua dicta redemptor, quibus atra morte triumphans tua per vestigia mandas socium crucis ire latronem. Patet ecce fidelibus ampli via lucida iam paradisi, licet et nemus illud adire, homini quod ademerat anguis. Illic precor, optime ductor, famulam tibi praecipe mentem genitali in sede sacrari, quam liquerat exul et errans. Nos tecta fovebimus ossa violis et fronde frequenti, titulumque et frigida saxa liquido spargemus odore. Hymn For The Burial Of The Dead Fountain of life, supernal Fire, Who didst unite in wondrous wise The soul that lives, the clay that dies, And mad'st them Man: eternal Sire, Both elements Thy will obey, Thine is the bond that joins the twain, And, while united they remain, Spirit and body own Thy sway. Yet they must one day disunite, Sunder in death this mortal frame; Dust to the dust from whence it came, The spirit to its heavenward flight. For all created things must wane, And age must break the bond at last; The diverse web that Life held fast Death's fingers shall unweave again. Yet, gracious God, Thou dost devise The death of Death for all Thine own; The path of safety Thou hast shown Whereby the doomd limbs may rise: So that, while fragile bonds of earth Man's noblest essence still enfold, That part may yet the sceptre hold Which from pure aether hath its birth. For if the earthy will hold sway, By gross desires and aims possessed, The soul, too, by the weight oppressed, Follows the body's downward way. But if she scorn the guilt that mars-- Still mindful of her fiery sphere-- She bears the flesh, her comrade here, Back to her home beyond the stars. The lifeless body we restore To earth, must slumber free from pain A little while, that it may gain The spirit's fellowship once more. The years will pass with rapid pace Till through these limbs the life shall flow, And the long-parted spirit go To seek her olden dwelling-place. Then shall the body, that hath lain And turned to dust in slow decay, On airy wings be borne away And join its ancient soul again. Therefore our tenderest care we spend Upon the grave: and mourners go With solemn dirge and footstep slow-- Love's last sad tribute to a friend. With fair white linen we enfold The dear dead limbs, and richest store Of Eastern unguents duly pour Upon the body still and cold. Why hew the rocky tomb so deep, Why raise the monument so fair, Save that the form we cherish there Is no dead thing, but laid to sleep? This is the faithful ministry Of Christian men, who hold it true That all shall one day live anew Who now in icy slumber lie. And he whose pitying hand shall lay Some friendless outcast 'neath the sod, E'en to the almighty Son of God Doth that benignant service pay. For this same law doth bid us mourn Man's common fate, when strangers die, And pay the tribute of a sigh, As when our kin to rest are borne. Of holy Tobit ye have read, (Grave father of a pious son), Who, though the feast was set, would run To do his duty by the dead. Though waiting servants stood around, From meat and drink he turned away And girt himself in haste to lay The bones with weeping in the ground. Soon Heaven his righteous zeal repays With rich reward; the eyes long blind In bitter gall strange virtue find And open to the sun's clear rays. Thus hath our Heavenly Father shown How sharp and bitter is the smart When sudden on the purblind heart The Daystar's healing light is thrown. He taught us, too, that none may gaze Upon the heavenly demesne Ere that in darkness and in pain His feet have trod the world's rough ways. So unto death itself is given Strange bliss, when mortal agony Opens the way that leads on high And pain is but the path to Heaven. Thus to a far serener day Our body from the grave returns; Eternal life within it burns That knows nor languor nor decay. These faces now so pinched and pale, That marks of lingering sickness show, Then fairer than the rose shall glow And bloom with youth that ne'er shall fail. Ne'er shall crabbed age their beauty dim With wrinkled brow and tresses grey, Nor arid leanness eat away The vigour of the rounded limb. Racked with his own destroying pains Shall fell Disease, who now attacks Our aching frames, his force relax Fast fettered in a thousand chains: While from its far celestial throne The immortal body, victor now, Shall watch its old tormentor bow And in eternal tortures groan. Why do the clamorous mourners wail In bootless sorrow murmuring? And why doth grief unreasoning God's righteous ordinance assail? Hushed be your voices, ye that mourn; Ye weeping mothers, dry the tear; Let none lament for children dear, For man through Death to Life is born. So do dry seeds grow green again, Now dead and buried in the earth, And rising to a second birth Clothe as of old the verdant plain. Take now, O earth, the load we bear, And cherish in thy gentle breast This mortal frame we lay to rest, The poor remains that were so fair. For they were once the soul's abode, That by God's breath created came; And in them, like a living flame, Christ's precious gift of wisdom glowed. Guard thou the body we have laid Within thy care, till He demand The creature fashioned by His hand And after His own image made. The appointed time soon may we see When God shall all our hopes fulfil, And thou must render to His will Unchanged the charge we give to thee. For though consumed by mould and rust Man's body slowly fades away, And years of lingering decay Leave but a handful of dry dust; Though wandering winds, that idly fly, Should his disparted ashes bear Through all the wide expanse of air, Man may not perish utterly. Yet till Thou dost build up again This mortal structure by Thy hand, In what far world wilt Thou command The soul to rest, now free from stain? In Abraham's bosom it shall dwell 'Mid verdant bowers, as Lazarus lies Whom Dives sees with longing eyes From out the far-off fires of hell. We trust the words our Saviour said When, victor o'er grim Death, he cried To him who suffered at His side "In Mine own footsteps shalt thou tread." See, open to the faithful soul, The shining paths of Paradise; Now may they to that garden rise Which from mankind the Serpent stole. Guide him, we pray, to that blest bourn, Who served Thee truly here below; May he the bliss of Eden know, Who strayed in banishment forlorn. But we will honour our dear dead With violets and garlands strown, And o'er the cold and graven stone Shall fragrant odours still be shed.