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|
From V CXXIV:284. See also B S1:89:129; MS V2; Valgrisi 90. An eighteenth in a series meditating Christ. Key