VIII

Like the night, you invite us to rest
our head, burdened by the weight
of distressing sorrows, on the pillow
of your pallid breast, which is bare
and unmoving with the stillness of death
that is eternal life; you offer a repose
which relieves the torment of the soul
that is condemned to wait. And resting
on your heart (a limitless expanse
of immortal humanity, like an endless sea
that reflects the calmness of the heavens)
our sorrows are eased. A tranquil
light pours out from your heart;
from there your arms spread over the world,
and your silence says to us: “Brothers,
come to me and ease your sorrows;
I am the moon which fills the valley
with a lake of shining white milk
that cradles dreams.” The soft night
of your abundant black Nazarene
hair falls with tenderness over
your brow (a place for divine ideas)
and the veil that covers your suffering
heart shines as white as the moon;
because you gave your life for us.
The light of God is reflected in the glow
of your heart which no longer beats,
and your body is a transparent curtain
over your heart. Your quiet white chest
like the shade of a lamp, does not breathe:
like a lake without waves reflecting
the peaceful serenity of the sky,
it sheds a motionless light with no beginning.
Oh quiet light without waves, timeless light,
boundless and unfathomable sea of light,
a sea of death that does not destroy
and of life that does not surpass the sea!