You, crown of all angels, Heaven's jewel and glory from whose most worthy head divine rays flash, you let the crown of thorns pierce the Throne of Majesty. The tiger-pressure bursts your veins. Yes, each thorn-prick opens up the spring of life: blood rubies spray from that redemption-sap. My heavenly crown hangs on these thorn-tips won in this war of suffering. They should have pierced my heart and not his head! But no, both my salvation and your love must walk this thorny path to reach their goal. You endure the barbs, and win for me the roses. O Love, for whom, with love, I would willingly be pierced, let me spread your name abroad in crowned and starry streets. Click here to read this sonnet in the original German.