Father in Heaven, if, I am a branch
of a life-giving tree, by Your mercy,
part of a life-giving force embracing
this earth, making our goodness inhere in
faith alone, look down on me--these black leaves,
withered, these shadows closing in on me--
if the sweet Spring does not return; do not
grieve for me, make this seared soul green once more.
Purge me so I stay with you, feed myself
on Your hallowed dew, let my tears water
these roots, give me the freshness, strength of youth.
You are the Truth: speak to me, be with me,
come, help me bring forth the blessed fruit of
grace, worthy so dear a tree--the cross.
|An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition|
From V XXI:191. See B S1: 2:12; R XII:420. Translations: Roscoe 330; Glassford 61. Key