On My Saviour’s Undeserved Slap in the Face

After this blow, an instant thunderclap should strike!
Why do heaven and earth delay to execute
the Arch-Criminal? Why don't they swallow him right now?
And why does Hell not open wide its maw?
You, the highest aim of angel choirs' worship,
Beauty's epitome—ah, should you not defeat
the panther-hearts and pierce them with your rays?
Ah no, the slap in your face lifts my face upwards.
The Throne of Glory is struck here before me.
His face, source of our Sun's light, turned aside
so that mine, comforted, will ever be uplifted.
He bears the punishment; we bear glory's image.
This sinful blow delivered in this place
secures our greatest joy of looking on his face.

Click here to read this sonnet in the original German.

On My Jesus, Sweating Blood in Love and Pain

My chosen Blood, ah, my redemption's Lifeblood!
Where can I find heart or words to love and laud
such unheard-of faithfulness in this heart-rending trial?
Heaven alone can give me power to praise.
Sweat, hot with anguished love, salvation's pith and power,
forced out through heart-dissolving fear and pain
from which God should have spared his son!
Our salvation's bound to him more firmly
than his own heart: his heart melts, our salvation's gained.
Each droplet is a mirror of his kindness.
God's majesty shines forth from this blood-anguish:
he endures, while bearing all our guilt.
Ah blood, come to my aid in my soul's parting hour:
on Judgment Day, clothe me in crimson.

Click here to read this sonnet in the original German.

On the Sorrowing Christ’s Heartfelt, Painful Prayer

He who made the earth now falls face down
on that same earth. He prays, who is most worthy of our prayer.
He who saves us all from pain trembles in his pain.
Prostrate, he lifts our faces up to heaven.
As one man's fall destroyed our innocence,
so the other's fall saves us from guilt.
There he sinks into the abyss; here, he draws us
by his merit up to the light of God's grace.

The Unshakeable who split the rock, now shakes;
who made the earth quake, now quakes with dread and fear.
God's thundering wrath shatters his every nerve
so that you, my soul, obtain salvation's power.
His blood's balm flows from his body's broken vessel
and pours on you the fragrance of its peace.

Click here to read this sonnet in the original German.