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That individual, tortured, twisted oppressed by all life's experiences, weighed down, now standing silent, now a strained sound, no faith in herself, trusting no-one, barely able to breathe, and if humbled turning inward with hope and then showing Him who on the cross meant to free her from these snares how she trembles with the sorrow that grips her, and how this grief is right. Then it comes, she takes courage, bold need, faith stir not only the tongue, but the heart to call out: Beloved Father, protect me, care for me here with this mercy: let me know a little peace in my tormented way. |
An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition |
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Notes: From V CLIV:314. See also B S1:170:170. No MSs; Valgrisi 171. See Mark 14:36, Rom 8:15, Gal 4:6. Key |
