How deep the Father's love for us,
How vast beyond all measure,That He should give his only son,
To make a wretch his treasure.
How great the pain of searing loss,
The Father turns His face away,
As wounds which mar the chosen one,
Bring many sons to glory.
- Stuart Townend
Salve, caput cruentatum,
Totum spinis coronatum,
Conquassatum, vulneratum,
Arundine sic verberatum
Facie sputis illita
Salve, cuius dulcis vultus,
Immutatus et incultus
Immutavit suum florem
Totus versus in pallorem
Quem coeli tremit curia.
- Attributed to St. Bernard of Clairvaux
Salve, caput cruentatum,
Totum spinis coronatum,
Conquassatum, vulneratum,
Arundine sic verberatum
Facie sputis illita
Salve, cuius dulcis vultus,
Immutatus et incultus
Immutavit suum florem
Totus versus in pallorem
Quem coeli tremit curia.
- Attributed to St. Bernard of Clairvaux
3 comments:
"Greetings, O bloodied head,
all crowned with thorns,
dashed, wounded,
thus beaten with a cane,
your face smeared with spit;
greetings, whose sweet visage,
altered and disfigured,
has changed its bloom,
turned entirely into (deathlike) pallor,
before which the assembly of Heaven trembles."
I hope you don't think a loose translation diminishes the majesty of the poem.
Not at all, and thanks for the translation. I posted this on the fly.
Happy Easter!
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