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.