While the mother caressed the body of her beloved son, now dead, she believed she saw the proud triumphal parade of those who would know splendor in paradise. His broken body, the harshness and pain of his wounds, their shifting colors increased the bitter wild torment ravaging her (yes, Victoria's been there), or, should I say, she was eased by the victory of God's eternal realm. Her Father told her the secret: He hadn't abandoned, but given radiant new life to His Son. But you bore Him, and until he was at rest in the ground your robbed heart found no comfort. |
An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition |
Notes: From V XCIV:254. See also B S1:108:139; MSs L, V2; Valgrisi 109. A tenth in a series to the Virgin Key |