MICHELANGELO
Unless
Thou show us thine own true way no man can find it; Father! Thou must Lead.
(Wordsworth,
1932, 319)
You
only are good; Your supreme mercy
Help
my predicted sinful state,
So
close to death and so far from God.
(Montale,
1976,
I
would love to want that which I do not want:
Between
the fire and the heart of ice a veil is present
That
quenches the fire, so that it prevents
The
pen in its work, and makes the sheet a liar.
I
love you with the tongue, and then I pain
That
love does not reach the heart; nor do I know where
It
opens the door to the mercy that enters
The
heart, that casts out every merciless pride.
Tear
the veil , my Lord, break down the wall
That
with its hardness slows down
The
brightness of your light, dark to the world!
Send
the prophesied light so near to us
To
your beautiful bride, that in my heart
I
might burn without doubt, and only you believe.
(D=Angelo,
1978, 78)
There
is nothing more base and vile on earth
such
as I am without you I feel and am,
(Ibid.,
133)
MICHELANGELO
The
time to contemplate God.
(Ibid.,
133)
Half
the way that rises up to heaven
My
dear Lord, and to that aim alone
To
rise I need your help.
(Ibid.,
133
I speak to You , my Lord, for with all my trials,
Without
Your blood, blessedness I, man, would never
reach.
(Ibid.,
126)
Only
You are the seed of pure and holy works,
That
grow where You sow them
No
one can follow you with His own worth
Except
You show them Your holy ways.
(Ibid.,
127)
Do
not look with eyes of Justice
upon
my past . . .
May
only Your blood touch and wash my faults
And
evermore abound when I get old.
(Ibid.,
127)
By
the cross, by Grace and by diverse trials
I
am sure. We will be in Heaven.
(Ibid.,
131)
In
Your blood one can comprehend...
That
without limit your dear gifts are.
(Ibid.,
131)
MICHELANGELO
My
dear Lord, only You I call and supplicate
About
the vain and blind torment:
You
only can renew me within and without.
(Stone,
1963, 245)
SONNET
Well
nigh the voyage now is overpast
And
my frail bark through trouble seas and rude
Draws
near that common haven where at last
Of
every action, be it evil or good
Must
due account be rendered. Well I know
How
then will then appear that favored art.
Sole
Idol long and Monarch of my heart,
For
all is vain that man desires below.
And
now remorseful thoughts the past unbraid,
And
fear of twofold death my soul alarms,
That
which must come, and that beyond the grave.
Picture
and sculpture lose their feeble charms
And
to that Love Divine I turn for aid,
Who
from the cross extends his arms to save.
(Wordworth,