08 May Bath of the Basilisk

Repent before the ashes steal the sweet,
And mumbled cherubs bind thy hands and feet.

And drag thee to the dread throne of the Word,
Thy ev’ry err unraveled, read and heard:

His holy Blood cries from the ground thou trod,
Thy Victim, Help and Judge was always God.

He calls thy soul to make account of each,
Who Christ condemns no saints can thou beseech.

The Virgin Mother holds her peace as well,
Thy silent angel watched and warned of Hell,

But thou forgot thy gifts in wit and dream,
And wished instead to hate, hurt and blaspheme.

Basilisks washed in wills turn it to stones.
The wind revives and Spirit dries and groans,

And chiller seas shall rise in rivers four
To vomit forth their dead to life e’ermore.

The few who walk on just and lightful path
Awaken sleeping mercies, not the wrath

Lurking deep in abysses made from tears
Amassed for captive lives in wasted years.

The year coming to die as lamb or goat:
Repent, I say! thus for myself I wrote.