There is no longer a human pain other than my pain;
and no eyes cry, and no soul is anguished
without me anguish and cry;
and to my heart it is faithful lamp of all the vigils,
oh Christ!

In vain I search in the deep hiding places of my being
to find some hatred: no one can hurt me anymore
but of piety and love. All are me, I am all,
oh Christ!

What maladies or goods matter! For me all are goods.
The rosebush has no thorns: for me it only gives roses.
Roses of Passion? Does matters! Roses of celestial essence,
purple as the blood that you shed for us,
oh Christ!