Garden of Sacred Idylls

The Table of the Lord,

from Ps. 23.

Who, O nourishing Despot of the world, will proclaim
The abundant plenty of your kindness with worthy praise?
You prepare a supper with a bountiful supply for mortals:
The table stands filled with delicious dishes from every side,
Cups full of must wine crown this.
Nothing is desired here: All things are superfluous,
Which can extinguish the appetite of hunger and thirst.
This one takes, that one takes, this one takes: Everyone full
Departs from here, and refreshed by the wholesome Nectar of sweetness,
He receives new strength.
The delicate supper of Apicius the notorious Roman glutton now tastes of nothing,
Nor do cakes smeared with honey move the saliva.
The fish drawn from the deep of the sea is foul:
I reject the buttocks of boars with the haunches of goats.
Let the prodigal grandsons devour these things. Let no one drink
The liquors of the Massic vine for me. Let them drain
The sweet flower of Liber Bacchus with a supine throat in three-measure cups.
It pleases me to taste the supper, which the Author of salvation
Prepares. That does not stuff the heavy ballast of the belly.
Wholesome food of the heavenly ones feeds the tired spirit,
And the liquor of perennial life, boiling, refreshes the heart.
O blessed is he, whom he has called to his Banquet