Michelangelo Buonarroti

(1475-1564 / Italy)

Lxxvii. _The Blood Of Christ._ - Poem by Michelangelo Buonarroti

Mentre m' attrista.

Mid weariness and woe I find some cheer
In thinking of the past, when I recall
My weakness and my sins, and reckon all
The vain expense of days that disappear:
This cheers by making, ere I die, more clear
The frailty of what men delight miscall;
But saddens me to think how rarely fall
God's grace and mercies in life's latest year.
For though Thy promises our faith compel,
Yet, Lord, what man shall venture to maintain
That pity will condone our long neglect?
Still from Thy blood poured forth we know full well
How without measure was Thy martyr's pain,
How measureless the gifts we dare expect.


Comments about Lxxvii. _The Blood Of Christ._ by Michelangelo Buonarroti

  • Fabrizio Frosini (12/29/2015 1:15:00 PM)


    Michelangelo Buonarroti - Rime
    294. Mentre m'attrista e duol, parte m'è caro


    Mentre m’attrista e duol, parte m’è caro
    ciascun pensier c’a memoria mi riede
    il tempo andato, e che ragion mi chiede
    de’ giorni persi, onde non è riparo.
    Caro m’è sol, perc’anzi morte imparo5
    quant’ogni uman diletto ha corta fede;
    tristo m’è, c’a trovar grazi’ e mercede
    negli ultim’anni a molte colpe è raro.
    Ché ben c’alle promesse tua s’attenda,
    sperar forse, Signore, è troppo ardire10
    c’ogni superchio indugio amor perdoni.
    Ma pur par nel tuo sangue si comprenda,
    se per noi par non ebbe il tuo martire,
    senza misura sien tuo cari doni.
    (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, August 31, 2010



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