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If God placed that dazzling lamp in the sky to set the earth aflame, to instill us with passion for our own good, why this ice thick-ribbed around the heart, why these cold minds? How does ice slow fire? God's vast, virtue potent: with his just eye He sees which soul wings eagerly, which crawls reluctantly to purify the self in flaming light. Discord, war, fiery torches menace us tonight, they dare us to defy death and torture only to have done so before we subside into peace--death or quiet. Make our tears burn, breathe stir, flames surround us, make us yearn for an end in Paradise. |
An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition |
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Notes: From V XX:180. See also B S1:51:110; R XXIIII:445. Key |
