MEDIÆVAL HYMNS.
115
Christ the prey hath here unbound
From the foe that girt us round:[1]
Tale, in Samson's prowess found
When the lion-form he slew:[2]
David, in His Father's cause,
From the Lion's hungry jaws
And the bear's devouring paws
Hath set free His flock anew.
Samson thousands slew by dying:
Christ, true Samson, typifying,[3]
Who by death o'ercame His foes:
Samson, by interpretation,
Is their sunlight: Our Salvation
Thus hath brought illumination
To the Elect on whom He rose.
From the Cross's pole[4] of glory
Flows the must of ancient story
In the Church's wine-vat stored:
From the press, now trodden duly,
Gentile first-fruits gathered newly
Drink the precious liquor poured.
Sackcloth, worn with foul abuses,[5]
