Dissipates, and offers Lethe the river of forgetfulness to mortals?
More safely will I drink from the virginal spring of salvation
Celestial water, that I may refresh my inmost marrow,
And the lethal virus of the Styx river of the underworld, which the bite
Of the infernal Dragon inflicted, I may wash away with a salutary potion.
Let the eared King of the Phrygians Midas lead empty cups
Of golden liquor. He will hardly stay his thirst with such an offering,
Which the burning sulphur of Tartarus the deep abyss of the underworld
Nourishes within.

But he who drinks from the benign fountains of Israel,
Refreshed by sweet waves, will not immediately
Be oppressed by parching thirst. To him flows an abundance
Of all the goods of heaven and the grace of salvation.
Truly, this perennial spring of blessedness leaps up,
Derived from the sacred canals of the ether.

The Tree of Life

in the midst of the Paradise of the Church.

It is a Garden, which the nurturing light of day always
Bathes, which the omnipotent Planter has surrounded with the continuous honor of spring.
He gives this grove to dwell in with Himself to chaste colonists,
Those whom He has written as citizens of Olympus.
Here stands, and will stand forever, the venerable Tree
Of Life, which, having encompassed the central boss of perennial
Light, crowns the enclosure as queen far and wide.