A Prayer For Grace In Death. Second Reading.

Parmi che spesso.


Ofttimes my great desire doth flatter me
        With hope on earth yet many years to stay:
        Still Death, the more I love it, day by day
        Takes from the life I love so tenderly.
What better time for that dread change could be,
        If in our griefs alone to God we pray?
        Oh, lead me, Lord, oh, lead me far away
        From every thought that lures my soul from Thee!
Yea, if at any hour, through grace of Thine,
        The fervent zeal of love and faith that cheer
        And fortify the soul, my heart assail.
Since nought achieve these mortal powers of mine,
        Plant, like a saint in heaven, that virtue here;
        For, lacking Thee, all good must faint and fail.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni was an Italian sculptor, painter, architect, and poet of the High Renaissance. Born on March 6, 1475, he is widely considered one of the greatest artists of all time. His poetry, although lesser-known compared to his other artistic achievements, displays his deep contemplation of art, love, and spirituality. Michelangelo passed away on February 18, 1564.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - An Exhortation To Mankind.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - On The Sepulchre Of Christ. No. 2.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

Celestial And Earthly Love.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

The Lover And The Sculptor.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

English

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A Prayer For Grace In Death. First Reading.

S' avvien che spesso.


What though strong love of life doth flatter me
        With hope of yet more years on earth to stay,
        Death none the less draws nearer day by day,
        Who to sad souls alone comes lingeringly.
Yet why desire long life and jollity,
        If in our griefs alone to God we pray?
        Glad fortune, length of days, and pleasure slay
        The soul that trusts to their felicity.
Then if at any hour through grace divine
        The fiery shafts of love and faith that cheer
        And fortify the soul, my heart assail,
Since nought achieve these mortal powers of mine,
        Straight may I wing my way to heaven; for here
        With lengthening days good thoughts and wishes fail.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

A Prayer For Strength.

Carico d'anni.


Burdened with years and full of sinfulness,
        With evil custom grown inveterate,
        Both deaths I dread that close before me wait,
        Yet feed my heart on poisonous thoughts no less.

No strength I find in mine own feebleness
        To change or life or love or use or fate,
        Unless Thy heavenly guidance come, though late,
        Which only helps and stays our nothingness.

'Tis not enough, dear Lord, to make me yearn
        For that celestial home, where yet my soul
        May be new made, and not, as erst, of nought:

Nay, ere Thou strip her mortal vestment, turn
        My steps toward the steep ascent, that whole
        And pure before Thy face she may be brought.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

Waiting For Death.

Di morte certo.


        My death must come; but when, I do not know:
        Life's short, and little life remains for me:
        Fain would my flesh abide; my soul would flee
        Heavenward, for still she calls on me to go.

        Blind is the world; and evil here below
        O'erwhelms and triumphs over honesty:
        The light is quenched; quenched too is bravery:
        Lies reign, and truth hath ceased her face to show.

        When will that day dawn, Lord, for which he waits
        Who trusts in Thee? Lo, this prolonged delay
        Destroys all hope and robs the soul of life.

        Why streams the light from those celestial gates,
        If death prevent the day of grace, and stay
        Our souls for ever in...

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

Sonnet XXIX.

S' io credessi per morte essere scarco.

HE PRAYS FOR DEATH, BUT IN VAIN.


    Had I believed that Death could set me free
From the anxious amorous thoughts my peace that mar,
With these my own hands which yet stainless are,
Life had I loosed, long hateful grown to me.
Yet, for I fear 'twould but a passage be
From grief to grief, from old to other war,
Hither the dark shades my escape that bar,
I still remain, nor hope relief to see.
High time it surely is that he had sped
The fatal arrow from his pitiless bow,
In others' blood so often bathed and red;
And I of Love and Death have pray'd it so--
He listens not, but leaves me here half dead.
Nor cares to call me to himself below.

MACGREGOR.


    Oh! had I deem'd that...

Francesco Petrarca

A Prayer To Nature. Amor Redivivus. - Second Reading.

Sol perchè tue bellezze.


If only that thy beauties here may be
        Deathless through Time that rends the wreaths he twined,
        I trust that Nature will collect and bind
        All those delights the slow years steal from thee,
And keep them for a birth more happily
        Born under better auspices, refined
        Into a heavenly form of nobler mind,
        And dowered with all thine angel purity.
Ah me! and may heaven also keep my sighs,
        My scattered tears preserve and reunite,
        And give to him who loves that fair again!
More happy he perchance shall move those eyes
        To mercy by the griefs my manhood blight,
        Nor lose the kindness that from me is ta'en!

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

A Prayer For Aid.

Deh fammiti vedere.


Oh, make me see Thee, Lord, where'er I go!
        If mortal beauty sets my soul on fire,
        That flame when near to Thine must needs expire,
        And I with love of only Thee shall glow.
Dear Lord, Thy help I seek against this woe,
        These torments that my spirit vex and tire;
        Thou only with new strength canst re-inspire
        My will, my sense, my courage faint and low.
Thou gavest me on earth this soul divine;
        And Thou within this body weak and frail
        Didst prison it--how sadly there to live!
How can I make its lot less vile than mine?
        Without Thee, Lord, all goodness seems to fail.
        To alter fate is God's prerogative.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni