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

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.