A POEM DECLARING THE REAL PRESENCE OF CHRIST IN THE BLESSED SACRAMENT OF THE ALTAR.  

IN Paschal feast, the end of ancient rite:  
An entrance was to never fading grace.  
types to the truth, dim glimpses to the light:  
Performing deed presaging signs did chase.  
Christ's final meal, was fountain of our good:  
For mortal meat, he gave immortal food.   

That which he gave he was, o peerless gift:  
Both God and man he was, and both he gave.  
He in his hands himself did truly lift:  
far of they see, whom in themselves they have.  
Twelve did he feed, twelve did the feeder eat:  
He made, he dressed, he gave, he was their meat.   

They saw, they heard, they felt him sitting near:  
Unseen, unfelt, unheard, they him received.  
No divers things, though divers it appear,  
Though senses fail, yet faith is not deceived.  
And if the wonder of the work be new:  
Believe the work, because the word is true.   

Here true belief of force inviteth love:  
So sweet a truth love never yet injoyde.  
What thought can think, what will doth best approve:  
Is here attained, where no desire is void.  
The grace, the joy, the treasure here is such:  
No wit can wish, nor will embrace so much.   

Self love here cannot crave, more than it finds:  
Ambition to no higher worth aspire.  
The eagrest famine, of most hungry minds:  
May fill, yea far exceed their own desire.  
In sum here's all, and that in some expressed:  
Of much the most, of every good the best.   

Here to delight the wits, true wisdom is:  
To woo the will, of every good the choice.  
For memory, a mirror showing bliss:  
Here's all that can both sense and soul rejoice,  
And if to all, all this it doth not bring:  
The fault is in the men, not in the thing.   

Though blind men see no light, the Sun doth shine:  
Sweet cates, are sweet, though sowered tastes deny it.  
Pearls, precious are, though trodden on by swine:  
Each truth is true, though all men do not try it.  
The best, still to the bad doth work the worst:  
Things bred to bliss, doth make them more accursed.   

The Angel's eyes, whom veils cannot deceive:  
Might best disclose, what best they do discern.  
Men must with sound, and silent faith receive:  
More than they can, by sense or reason learn.  
God's power our proof, his works our wits exceed:  
The doers might is reason for his deed.   

A body is endued with ghostly rights:  
And natures work from nature's law is free.  
In heavenly Sun lies hid eternal lights:  
Lights clear, and near, yet them no eye can see  
Dead forms a never dying life doth shroud:  
A boundless sea lies in a little cloud.   

The God of hosts in slender hosts doth dwell:  
Yea God, and man, withal to either due.  
That God that rules the heavens, and rifled hell:  
That man whose death did us to life renew.  
That God and man it is that Angel's bliss:  
In form of bread and wine our nurture is.   

Whole may his body be, in smallest bread:  
Whole in the whole, yea whole in every crumb.  
With which be one, or be ten thousand fed:  
All to each one, to all but one doth come  
And though each one as much as all receive:  
Not one too much, nor all too little have.   

One soul in man is all in every part,  
One face at once in many glasses shines.  
One fearful noise doth make a thousand start:  
One eye at once of countles things defines  
If proof of one in many, nature frame,  
Why may not God much more perform the same.   

God present is at once in every place:  
Yet God in every place is always one.  
So may there be by gifts of ghostly grace:  
One man in many rooms, yet filling none.  
Sith Angels may effects of body's show  
God Angels gifts on bodies may bestow.   

What God as author made, he altar may,  
No change so hard, as making all of nought;  
If Adam framed were of slimy clay;  
Bread may to Christ's most sacred flesh be brought  
He still doth this, that made with mighty hand,  
Of water wine, a snake of Moses' wand.    

Printed at Douai, by Laurence Kellam, at the sign of the holy Lamb, 1606.