Our Morning Offering – 31 March – Wednesday in Holy Week
Sonnet to our Lord Crucified
Anonymous, of Spanish origen
I am not moved to love Thee, O my God,
That I might hope in promised heaven to dwell,
Nor am I moved by fear of pain in hell,
To turn from sin and follow where Thou trod.
Thou move me, Lord, broken beneath the rod,
Or stretched out on the Cross, as nails compel
Thy hand to twitch.
It moves me that we sell,
To mockery and death, Thy Precious Blood.
It is, O Christ, Thy love which moves me so,
That my love rests not on a promised prize,
Nor holy fear or threat of endless woe,
It is not milk and honey but the flow
Of Blood from blessed wounds before my eyes,
That waters my buried soul and makes it grow.
Amen
Spanish:
No me mueve, mi Dios, para quererte,
Elcielo que me tienes prometido,
Mi me mueve el infierno tan temido,
para dejar por eso de ofenderte.
Tu me mueves, Senor, mueveme el verte
Clavado en una cruz y escarnecido,
Mueveme el ver tu cuerpo tan herido,
Muevenme tus afrentas y tu muerte.
Mueveme, en fin, tu amor de tal manera,
que aunque no hubiera cielo, yo te amara,
Y aunque no hubiera infierno, te temiera.
No me tienes que dar porque Te quiera,
Porque, aunque lo que espero no esperara,
Lo mismo que te quiero Te quisiera.
Who wrote it? Who knows?
The names fell from the pages,
Lost and never
To return to where
The eyes of the reader
Might ever see them.
‘I am no-one,
Constructing eternity so,
I can live forever’
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