Water, the stream of life, warm, and sweet feeds
the soul, and then melts and washes away
that malice hidden deep in us; dear God,
upon your life's stream, your love we build hope.
Time on the cross, blood, and sweat, passionate
souls, souls assaulted on all sides, souls in
deep peril all serve the true Master; not
indifferent, reluctant, and grudging souls.
Hard labor and exhaustion make us one
with Christ; thus these feel so sweet to the flesh--
for to Him life became piercingly harsh.
I remember faithfully that the joy He
deprived Himself of He gives to those who
love Him ungrudgingly, who yield Him all.
|An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition|
From V LII:212. See also B S1:87:128. No MSs; Valgrisi 88. Key