lost their light; My sacred ears were filled with mocking and
blasphemy; My sweet mouth was hurt by the bitter drink. Nowhere was
there any rest or refreshment for Me. My sacred head hung down in
pain; My fair neck was cruelly bruised; My shining face was
disfigured by festering wounds; My fresh colour was turned to
pallor. In a word, the beauty of My whole body was so marred, that I
appeared like a leper--I, the Divine Wisdom, who am fairer than the
sun.

Servitor. O brightest mirror of grace, which the Angels desire to
look into, in which they delight to fix their gaze, would that I
might behold Thy beloved countenance in the throes of death just
long enough to water it with the tears of my heart, and to satisfy
my mind with lamentations over it.

Wisdom. No one more truly testifies his grief over My Passion, than
he who in very deed passes through it with Me. Far more pleasing to
Me is a heart disentangled from the love of all transitory things,
and earnestly intent on gaining the highest perfection according to
the example which I have set before him in My life, than one which
continually weeps over My Passion, shedding as many tears as all the
raindrops that ever fell. For this was what I most desired and
looked for in My endurance of that cruel death--namely, that mankind
might imitate Me; and yet pious tears are very dear to Me.

Servitor. Since then, O most gracious God, the imitation of Thy most
gentle life and most loving Passion is so pleasing to Thee, I will
henceforth labour more diligently to follow Thy Passion than to weep
over it. But since both are pleasing to Thee, teach me, I pray Thee,
how I ought to conform myself to Thy Passion.