Why can we not love the cross,

recline in the shade of this blessed tree,

fix our gaze upon it,

and clasp it in our arms?

Why can we not taste its fruit,

bitter in the mouth,

but salutary for the soul,

so fruitful for eternal life?

What is beyond it?

The earth is torn up

to receive the seeds of the future harvest,

and what is this life for us

but the divine sowing-time?

Let us then be broken up,

torn in all our senses,

so that our souls may be fertile for eternity;

let us permit the Divine Labourer to dig deeply,

seeking in our inmost nature

the last roots of any noxious herb,

so that the brambles

may no longer stifle the good grain,

nor the tares mix with the true corn.

Let us even allow Him to slay us,

in order to bestow on us new life.

(L S 1905)


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