|
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 |
|
Notes: From V XXI:191. See B S1: 2:12; R XII:420. Translations: Roscoe 330; Glassford 61. Key |
