E L E G I A V I I.

And how the Son was brought forth from the womb of the Palestinian virgin,

not less than his boundless Father.

Then I shall speak of the cruel punishments, and the bitter death,

and the human race, the great reward of death.

Only do not allow the wars that now roar in motion, horrid wars,

to proceed further through sad delays.

So that fierce discord, the mother of civil war,

and martial fury may cease in our world.

Then it will be a joy to strike the resounding strings for you, a work of peace,

then to ply the plectrum of the unaccustomed lyre for you.

For the highest Father, in the crisis of dire death,

Heard the prayers of the suppliant with an attentive ear.

"Draw near," I said, "and heal my pain,

O GOD, upon whose help my hope depends.

Behold, heavy with illness I lie without any strength,

And now the sickness creeps closer into my inmost bones.

You are able to keep me safe for my wretched parent,

You can defer my fate by your divine will.

Your power is not bounded by space or number,

And for something to happen, it is enough that you have willed it.

Come then, be present gently, and come bringing health to the sick,

ALMIGHTY, by yourself, and by your Son, I pray.

Nothing is accomplished by potions, and by herbs potent for help,

Without you, the laborious art of the physician avails nothing.

Look upon the forsaken, Father, and take pity on him who lies low,

Since you are merciful, not because I am worthy.

I myself, preserved, will give you deserved thanks in song,

In return for the gift of life, O author of the gift.

I myself will wreathe your altars with fragrant garlands,

And will speak your praises with the mouth with which I pray.

Only look with favor upon my suppliant vows and prayers,

And aid my limbs, drained of their vigor."

As I prayed with such words, the heavenly power did not wish

Me, relying on this goodness, to suffer a refusal.

And now my languishing limbs recover robust strength,

Now the color that was there before returns to my face.

Nor is the agony of my side present, and the panting fever

Has receded, and bitter thirst scorches my mouth less.

And as a bird, leaving its cradle beneath the green foliage,

Tests the air with feeble wings:

Thus I now also, weary from disuse, attempt my slow steps again,

And my words with a faint sound.

Nor do whole nights now pass for me without the gift of sleep,

Which are wretchedly spent awake by the sick.

Nor does the bark of mandrake, along with the seed of henbane,

And the red threads of saffron, anoint my temples.

Nor do I drink poppies mixed with the juices of lettuce;

My sleep, easy of its own accord, needs no art.

Moreover, I gladly walk in the neighboring gardens,

And whenever walking is burdensome, the grass provides a bed.

Therefore, you whom the bond of highest love has joined to me,

From whose mind I derive a thousand joys:

Seek the temples with me in snow-white garments, Hagius,

And fulfill your vows, and utter prayers.

But with what words shall I make the due praises?

Or with what gift, holy Father, shall I be grateful?

We shall not give costus, or the juice of liquid amomum,

Nor shall I worship you with the honor of Panchaean frankincense.

Pleasing to you is a mind lacking blemish, and a righteous will,

And a faith burning in the acknowledgment of you.

Highest Father, and offspring of the Father, and you, the Breath who breathe upon

All things, who, strengthening us, come from both:

Almighty One, whose divine power has no end,

Let there be eternal praise and honor to you.

You make it so that I see the sky, and the sun's pleasant

Lights; that I hope for a return and speak, is your doing.

Therefore you will always be celebrated by me in chaste verse;

All my talent will serve your praises.

And I will sing how great a compassion for us possesses you, Father,

When it is clear that we have repented of our offense.