[Jacopone da Todi, O Cristo onipotente, “Laude”, L, 13th century.]
Angels speak:
O Christ Omnipotent
Where are Thy footsteps wandering?
Why art Thou thus a pilgrim sent,
In poverty and suffering?
Christ speaks:
I took a young and gentle bride,
And gave My heart into her care;
I decked her, for My joy and pride,
With jewels very bright and fair:
—She left Me in dishonour there,
And I must wander sorrowing.
With beauty and with reverence
I decked her out so lovingly,
That on her tender innocence
My likeness blossomed visibly;
—Yet now her heart is false to Me,
And I must wander sorrowing.
I gave her Memory, pure and clear,
To be of Love the guide and chart;
And Understanding, bringing near
Celestial glory's lore and art:
And in the centre of her heart
I blazoned Will, all-conquering.
And after that, I gave her Faith,
Her Understanding to fulfil;
And Hope I gave, that knows not death,
To teach and mould her Memory's skill;
And to her sweet and ordered Will
I gave her Love, long-suffering.
And that her energies might have
Their organs and their complement,
For service and delight I gave
Her body for an ornament:
And lovely was the instrument,
If discords had not wrenched the string.
Her thirst for life and joy to slake,
Her energies to task and train,
I made all creatures for her sake,
That she might use them or refrain;
—The love she owes I ask in vain ;—
She wars on me in everything.
To let her heart and conscience know
How best their skill to exercise,
I wrapped and clothed her, pure as snow,
In the four Virtues' draperies.
—By her adulterous treacheries,
She makes of each an outcast thing.
Angels speak:
Dear Lord, if we can find Thy bride,
And if she will return to Thee,
O may we tell her, Thou wilt guide
And pardon her most tenderly?
That we may snatch her from the sea
Of sin where she is perishing?
Christ:
Yea, find and hold My love, and say
That she must hear Me, and return;
Nor make Me suffer, day by day,
A death so dolorous and dern;
For her I die, for her I burn,
My love is so unreasoning!
I shall rejoice, if she repents,
To pardon freely all her debt;
To give her back her ornaments,
My friendship round her path to set,
And all her frailty to forget,
That once so sore My heart did wring.
Angels:
O wandering and sinful soul,
Bride of a Husband fair and great,
How canst thou soil in dregs so foul
Thy face that was immaculate?
How canst thou flee in fear and hate,
From Love so deep, so mastering?
The Soul:
Ah, when upon His love I think,
I am confused, I die with shame:
He gave me grace and joy to drink,
And see the mire to which I came!
O dolorous death, undying flame,
That clips me in a fiery ring!
Angels:
O erring and ungrateful soul,
Go back to thy dear Lord again:
Be hopeful in thy bitter dole,
Nor let Him die for thee in vain.
His heart is pierced by thy disdain:
—O think upon His suffering!
The Soul:
Nay, I have given such deep offence,
Perchance He will not take me back;
I wounded Him and drove Him hence;
My life is turned to woe and wrack!
I see no pathway and no track;
For Love hath bound me shuddering!
Angels:
Doubt not, nor pause upon thy way,
He will receive thee, and will hear.
O tarry not, nor make delay!
Thou hast no cause to doubt or fear.
Call on His name, cry out, draw near,
With bitter plaint and clamouring.
The Soul:
O truthful Christ, where art Thou fled?
Where shall I find Thee, Love most fair?
Hide not away Thy lovely Head;
I die of sorrow and despair.
O who hath seen my Lord, and where?
Tell me where He is tarrying!
Angels:
O soul, we found Him where He hangs,
Nailed high upon the Cross is He;
Forsaken in His mortal pangs,
Scourged and tormented cruelly,
He tastes of death, and all for thee!
—For thou wast dear in purchasing!
The Soul:
The bitter grief that must be mine,
Exhales in tears and sobbing breath:
O what hath slain Thee, Love Divine?
For love of me He perisheth!
O Love, Inebriate in death,
Where hast thou hung my Lord and King?
