BOOK ONE

You will grant me to hold in my right hand,
Not to turn aside, but to the left.
And as a guardian against the serpent,
Grant a shoe for the heel,
So that it may not strike against the darkness,
But shall trample upon its head.
Of the slaughter of the fattened calf,
Which is the sacrifice on the Cross,
And the spear-pierced blood of the side,
The stream of life gushing for us,
Make me a communicant again,
According to the parable of the Prodigal.
To eat the bread of the Life-giver,
To drink Your heavenly cup.
I wandered in the wilderness,
I roamed in the desolate place,
Like the parable of the sheep,
One of the hundred.
Which the evil enemy tore,
Filled with impossible wounds.
From which there is no other medicine for the wound,
Except that it be healed by You.
To whom I cry out with weeping,
I scream to my Savior.
You are the brave and heavenly Shepherd,
And in search of the small flock.