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I know because I believe it, that your potent arm made my soul, that you came to give form and order to the world, so you clothed this low human matter--look see its humble fate--in godlike forms, that humbly, reverently you suffered a harsh death on the hard cross for crimes you didn't do, chained Hell close, and for me opened the gates to Paradise. And yet I don't love you as I ought to; Lord, my failure pains me, perhaps is the cause I am living this interminable life. Mine is not a yearning for rest, for loosening a knot so kindly made--do You see my just need? |
An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition |
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Notes: From V LXXIV:234. See also B S1:96:133. No MSs; Valgrisi 97. Key |
