Imprimi Potest, Nihil Obstat, Imprimatur, 1950 THE TRIUMPH OF THE CROSS I The Cross in mystery Is veiled for us below; Without great light to see, Who shall its splendor know? Alone the lofty mind Shall this high secret trace; And none shall heaven find Who grasps it not by grace. II Nature the Cross abhors; Reason gives it a frown; The learned man ignores It.  Satan tears it down. Despite a pious art, Even the fervent soul Oft takes it not to heart, But plays the liar's role. III Essential is the Tree, And we who know its cost Must mount to Calvary Or languish and be lost. As Saint Augustine states With outcry ominous, We all are reprobates Unless God chastens us. IV Its Necessity One road to Heaven runs: The highway of the Cross. It was the royal Son's, His road to life from loss. And every stone of it That guides the pilgrim's feet Is chiseled fair to fit In Zion's holy street. V Vain is the victory Of him who, conquering The world, lacks mastery Of self through suffering; Vain if he has not Christ, Slain Christ, for exemplar, Or spurns the Sacrificed For dread of wound and scar. VI Its Victories Christ's Cross, restraining Hell, Has conquered Eden's curse,  Stormed Satan's citadel, And won the universe. Now to His faithful band He gives that weapon bright To arm both heart and hand Against the evil sprite. VII In this auspicious Sign Thou shalt be conqueror, Said He to Constantine, Who that proud Standard bore;  A glorious augury, Of whose prodigious worth The records all agree In Heaven and on earth! VIII Its Glory and Merit Despite deceitful sense And reason's fickle shift, The Cross with confidence We take as Truth's own gift. A princess there we see In whom, let faith confess, We find all charity, Grace, wisdom, holiness.   IX God's love could not resist Such beauty or its plea, Which bade Him keep a tryst With our humanity. Coming to earth, He said: This, Lord, and nothing more: Thy saving Cross imbed Here in My bosom's core. X He took it, found it fair, An object not of shame But honor, made it share His love's most tender flame. From childhood's morning hour His longing kept in sight As beauty would a flower The Cross of His delight. XI At last in its caress Long sought for eagerly, He died of tenderness And love's totality. That dear supreme baptism For which His heart had cried, The Cross became His chrism,  Love's object undenied.   XII Christ called the Fisherman A Satan scandalous When he but winced to scan What Christ would bear for us. Christ's Cross we may adore, His Mother we may not. O mystery and more! a marvel beyond thought!   XIII This Cross, now scattered wide On earth, shall one day rise Transported, glorified, To the celestial skies. Upon a cloudy height The Cross, full-brillianted,  Shall, by its very sight, Judge both the quick and dead. XIV Revenge, the Cross will cry Against its sullen foes; Pardon and joy on high And blessedness for those Of proved fidelity In the immortal throng, Singing its victory With universal song. XV In life the Saints aspired To nothing but the Cross; 'Twas all that they desired, Counting all else but loss. Each one, in discontent With such afflictions sore As chastening Heaven sent, Condemned himself to more. XVI St. Peter, prison-chained, Had greater glory there Than when at Rome he gained The first Christ-Vicar's chair. Saint Andrew, faithful, cried: O good Cross, let me yield To thee and in thee hide, Where death in Life is sealed.  XVII See how the great St. Paul Depicts with meagre gloss His rapture mystical, But glories in the Cross. More admirable far, More merit-rich is he, Behind his dungeon bar Than in his ecstasy. XVIII Its Effects Without a Cross, the soul Is cowardly and tame; Like fire to a coal The Cross sets it aflame. One who has suffered not, In ignorance is bound; Only in pain's hard lot Is holy wisdom found. XIX A soul untried is poor In value; new, untrained, With destiny unsure And little wisdom gained. O sweetness sovereign Which the afflicted feels When pleased that to his pain No human solace steals!   XX 'Tis by the Cross alone God's blessing is conferred, And His forgiveness known In the absolving word. He wants all things to bear The mark of that great seal; Without it, nought is fair To Him, no beauty real. XXI Wherever place is given The Cross, things once profane Become instinct with Heaven And shed away their stain. On breast and brow, God's sign, Worn proudly for His sake, Will bless with Power Divine Each task we undertake. XXII It is our surety, Our one protection, Our hope's white purity, Our soul's perfection. So precious is its worth That Angels fain would bring The blest soul back to earth To share our suffering. XXIII This Sign has such a charm That at the altar-stone The priest can God disarm And draw Him from His throne. Over the sacred Host This mighty Sign he plays, Signals the Holy Ghost, And the Divine obeys. XXIV With this adorable Sign A fragrance is diffused Most exquisite and fine, A perfume rarely used. The consecrated priest Makes Him this offering As incense from the East, Meet crown for Heaven's King.   XXV Eternal Wisdom still Sifts our poor human dross For one whose heart and will Is worthy of the Cross, Still seeks one spirit rare Whose every pulse and breath Is fortitude to bear The Christ-Cross until death. Ardent Apostrophe XXVI O Cross, let me be hushed; In speech I thee abase. Let my presumption, crushed, Its insolence erase. Since thee I have received Imperfectly, in part, Forgive me, friend aggrieved, For my unwilling heart! XXVII Dear Cross, here in this hour, I bow to thee in awe. Abide with me in power And teach me all thy law. My princess, let me glow With ardor in thine arms; Grant me to chastely know The secret of thy charms. XXVIII. In seeing thee so fair, I hunger to possess Thy beauty, but I dare Not in my faithlessness. Come, mistress, by thy will Arouse my feeble soul And I will give thee still A heart renewed and whole. XXIX For life I choose thee now, My pleasure, honor, friend, Sole object of my vow, Sole joy to which I tend. For mercy's sake, print, trace Yourself upon my heart, My arm, my forehead, face; And not one blush will start. XXX Above all I possess I choose thy poverty; And for my tenderness Thy sweet austerity. Now be thy folly wise And all thy holy shame As grandeur in my eyes, My glory and my fame. XXXI When, by your majesty, And for your glory's sake, You shall have vanquished me, That conquest I shall take As final victory, Though worthy not to fall Beneath thy blows, or be A mockery to all. English Rendition by Clifford J. Laube, Litt.D. VIEW THE BACKGROUND IMAGE LARGE E-Mail HOME-------------------THE PASSION www.catholictradition.org/Passion/friends7.htm