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النشر الإلكتروني

Form of man they give to Matthew,
Since his Lord he thus portrayed,
Just as from the man descended
Whom in Eden God had made.
Luke the ox is, in appearance,
Since in Holy Writ he saw
Rites of sacrificial meaning,

'Neath the veiling of the law.

Mark, the lion, through the desert
Loudly roaring, clear is seen;
Straight be made for God a highway,
Every heart from sin be clean.
But on love's strong, double pinions
John is wafted from our sight
Into realms divine, as eagles
Soar into the purer light.

Fourfold in their forms, these creatures
All the acts of Christ portray,
And, as thou hast heard, describe Him
Each in his peculiar way.

Born as Man, He is depicted,
As the Ox, we see Him slain,
As the Lion, death He spoileth,
Eagle-like, He soars again.

ALANUS INSULANUS

Alanus de Insulis, or Insulanus, is supposed to have been born in L'Isle, or Lille, in Flanders, in the year 1114. He died, says Trench, about the beginning of the next century. He was known as Doctor Universalis, from his wide learning and his great ability.

It is difficult to determine whether he is the same person who is known as the friend of Bernard, and bishop of Auxerre. He was the author of a book of parables, and of many poems and hymns of great merit. His poem "Est locus ex nostro," is exceedingly beautiful, and reminds one of Bernard of Cluny.

ALANUS INSULANUS

DE VITA NOSTRA

Vita nostra plena bellis:
Inter hostes, inter arma
More belli vivitur;

Nulla lux it absque pugna,
Nulla nox it absque luctu,
Et salutis alea.

Sed timoris omnis expers,
Stabo firmus inter arma,
Nec timebo vulnera;
Non morabor hostis iras,
Non timebo publicasve,
Callidasve machinas.

ALAN OF L'ISLE

OUR LIFE

This life of ours is full of strife,
We live 'mid foes and arms,

As they who spend their restless hours
In sound of war's alarms;

No day without a conflict goes,

No night without its woe,

Our safety like the gamester's chance, The hazard of a throw.

But, free from every craven fear,
'Mid arms I'll stand my ground,
Nor shall my steadfast spirit know
The fear of mortal wound.
I'll not delay the foeman's rage,
Nor will I dread, the while,
His open, undisguised assault
Nor fear his hidden guile.

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