Chapter III

For clouds of gloom from nether world
Obscured my upward way;
O Christ the Light, Thy light bestow
And turn my night to day!

SYNESIUS

SYNESIUS

Synesius was born about 375. In more particulars than one he was an outstanding man. His pedigree is said to have extended through seventeen centuries, and to have included the names of the most illustrious. Not only was he of noble lineage, he was a man also of high character and brilliant attainments. He was versed in the Neoplatonic philosophy, and his Christianity has been called in question by no less an authority than Mosheim; but how any one can read his odes and doubt the reality of his Christian faith, even in the full sense of the term, as believing in the Divinity of Christ and in His Resurrection, is hard to understand. He certainly was a good man, and knew Christ and loved Him. His writings prove that; and in 410 A.D., though reluctantly, he became Bishop of Ptolemais. Very little of his poetry has come down to us, but that little is of the highest order. He died 430 A.D.

{soi nyx me pherei ton aoidon, anax}

A Cento from {age moi psycha}

I

When darkness falls and night is here,
My hymns of praise in silence rise--
This knows the moon, whose silver sphere
Shines in the star-bespangled skies.

II

When morning breaks, and glorious day
Shines in the dawn and noontide fair--
This knows the sun--a grateful lay
Springs from my heart in fervent prayer.

III

When fails the light at sunset gray,
And twilight listens for my song--
This know the stars--in bright array
My praises mingle with their throng.

{lypais d' astiptos psycha}

A Cento from {Hymnômen kouron nymphas}

I

O may my soul, uncrushed by care,
Direct her gaze to where Thou art,
And in Thy splendour find, O Christ,
The strength of life Thou canst impart.

II

And freed from sin's depressing load,
May I pursue the path divine,
And rise above the cares of earth
Until my life is merged in Thine.

III

Unsullied life Thy servant grant
Who tunes his harp to sound Thy praise,
And still my life shall hymn Thy love,
And glory to the Father raise.

IV

And when I rest in glory bright,
The burden of my labour past,
In hymns I'll praise Thee more and more
While the eternal ages last.

{age moi psycha}

I

Up, up, my soul, on wings of praise,
No other service know;
In holy strains the love express
That fires the heart below.

II

Burn, burn, my soul, and ever be
With holy ardour fired,
And, strongly armed with firm resolve,
Be evermore inspired.

III

Pour forth a bloodless offering
Of hymns and holy lauds,
And weave a garland rich and fair
To crown the King of gods.

{autos phôs ei pagaion}

Cento from {Hymnômen kouron nymphas}