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Tell me, Light of the world and God's bright Prince, now that you are happy, what sustained you? or what chains bit into your naked flesh, ensnared you, in that hour, on the cross? I alone perceive your torment, how you're maimed, hurt inside, flesh aching, the whole weight of your body hangs, pulls from three nails. And I hear Him say: my fathoms of chains were forged by an endless sweet love for you, which love, and obedience, protected me in death--it's ingratitude hurts me more than my body's pain. Shut out the soft, vulnerable? rather those cold hard hearts whom Christ's blood burning streaming cannot wake. |
An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition |
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Notes: From V CXXIV:284. See also B S1:89:129; MS V2; Valgrisi 90. An eighteenth in a series meditating Christ. Key |
