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Lord you live in inaccessible light, out of reach, where all feels dim, an absence diffusing light, life, and grace, like a glass translucent, placed aloft--light gleams through--and, there is each good. In you is all life, all meaning, You who can make and unmake worlds out of the abyss; the foul uncleanness of human passion becomes love when we follow You. Look at me, on Your earth, afflicted; You always saw I would be tormented and then saved. This grace I owe to You, to generosity. Draw me close, within Your realm, but to warm myself, let one so small as I come near once more. |
An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition |
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Notes: From V LIII:213. See also B S1:88: Texts differ, Visconti's stronger, Bullock's tighter, polished. MS sF1, V2 & L; Valgrisi 89. Key |
