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 From "The Lament of Mary"  

by St. Simeon  Metaphrastes

"O uncovered corse, yet Word of the Living One! self-doomed to be  uplifted on the cross for the drawing of all men unto Thee, - what  member of Thine hath no wound? O my blessed brows, embraced by  the thorn-wreath which is pricking at my heart! O beautiful and  priestly One, who hadst not where to lay Thine head and rest, and  now wilt lay it only in the tomb, resting-there-; sleeping, as Jacob  said, a lion's sleep! O cheeks turned to the smiter! O lips, new hive  for bees, yet fresh from the sharpness of vinegar and bitterness of  gall! O mouth, wherein was no guile, yet betrayed by the traitor's  kiss! O hand, creative of man, yet nailed to the cross, and since stretched out unto Hades, with help for the first transgressor! O feet,  once walking on the deep to hallow the waters of nature! O me, my  son! . . . Where is thy chorus of sick ones? - those whom Thou didst  cure of their diseases, and bring back from the dead? Is none here,  but only Nicodemus, to draw the nails from those hands and feet? -  none here, but only Nicodemus, to lift Thee from the cross heavily,  heavily, and lay Thee in these mother-arms, which bore Thee long  ago, in thy babyhood, and were glad -then-? These hands, which  swaddled Thee then, let them bind Thy grave-clothes now. And yet, -  O bitter funerals! - O Giver of life from the dead, liest Thou dead  before mine eyes? Must -I-, who said "hush" beside Thy cradle, wail  this passion upon Thy grave? -I-, who washed Thee in Thy first bath,  must I drop on Thee these hotter tears? I, who raised Thee high in my  maternal arms, - but -then- Thou leapedst, - -then-Thou sprangest up  in Thy child-play!"



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