Staurostichon: A Poem on the Mysteries of the Lord's Cross

Regarding Christ's flagellation

He underwent the cruel, sharp nails, the mockery, the laughter, and the harsh scourges, the spittle, the heavy slaps, the pulling of the beard, and the painful and dire crown bristling with thorns. He willed to put death to flight by the death of the cross. What mercy, Christ, forced you to endure death, so that you might snatch ungrateful mortals, with iron, hardened hearts, from death? I ask, that the insane forgetfulness of sleep, the infernal drowsiness, might never overwhelm or invade the gift conferred from on high.

Here divine adoration is shown after the death of Christ

Speak, happy souls, you who inhabit the shining temples, how often the mystical signs of death the Lord's passion have renewed him, after he visited the infernal seats, black with iron-colored darkness, and with the shadows driven away by eternal light, and with the enemy the devil chained, and the fathers released, Christ returned sublime to the higher citadels.

On the day of Pentecost

At the beginning, he pierced hearts with the arrows of the love of God. The hearts of the living, the life of the holy gathering, which the vivid virtue of the burning tongue penetrates, and they, being much warmed, breathed out the nourishing Christ, whom the faithful crowd once received in a pure breast, celebrating the banquets of the sacred supper.

Hence, they have the power to defeat cruel tyrants, their hearts disarmed by the flaming tongue. Hence the old gods fled, the senate trembled, and the masters of wisdom from the common people marveled, astonished. And the crowd began to marvel, when the heat began to grow unaccustomed, and the number, the more savage the anger was, grew.