Angels sing praise, should, as one subject to death, hang upon a Mother's breasts; that He Who sustains and gives food to all flesh, Who makes the clouds to thunder, and the rain to water the earth, should be held by the hand, and be carried about as a helpless child!
How is that which is highest joined with that which is lowest, that which is of man with that which is of God!
It was to wash me from my iniquity that, as an Infant, Thou didst weep; it was over my sins that Thy tears were shed. Therefore, O my Lord and my God, I owe Thee more for the sorrows, by which Thou didst redeem me, than for that mighty working by which Thou didst create me. How ought I not to bewail my sins, since Thou, O Lord, didst weep so constantly over them! How grievous must have been the wounds of my soul, when the tears which Thou didst shed over them were so many!
And yet there is nothing strange or wondrous in the thought that Thou, Who camest down from heaven to shed Thy precious Blood to wash us from our sins, shouldst shed tears of pity for them.
I praise Thee, therefore, my beloved Jesus, and I will never cease to praise Thee, for the love and for the pity Thou hast shown to me, a miserable sinner.
