for thirty and three years it had rested so sweetly, peacefully,
joyfully, and holily, even as two lovers on one bed. How hard was it
for them to be rent asunder, between whom no disagreement had ever
arisen, no strife, or quarrel, or treachery. How unspeakably
grievous was that Cross, when His sacred body was compelled to part
with so faithful a friend, so gentle an occupant, so loving a
teacher and master; and how great was the sorrow with which His
glorious and pure soul was torn away from so faithful a servant,
which had ever served obediently, never sparing any trouble, never
shrinking from cold or heat or hunger or thirst; always enduring
labour and sorrow in gentleness and patience. O how great was this
affliction! For, as the philosopher says: "Of all terrible things
death is the most terrible, on account of the natural and mutual
affection, which is very great, between soul and body." How much
greater must have been the anguish and sorrow, when the most holy
soul and body of Christ were sundered, between which there had
always been such wonderful harmony and love. Therefore, with inward
pity and anxious sorrow, let us meditate on this sad parting; for
the death of Christ is our life.

Let us meditate devoutly how His sacred body, the instrument of our
salvation, was steeped in anguish, when all His members, as if to
bid a last farewell, were bowing themselves down to die! Who can
look without remorse and sorrow and pity upon the most gracious face
of Christ, and behold how it is changed into the pallor and likeness
of death; how tears still flow from His dimmed eyes; how His sacred
head is bent; how all His members prove to us, by signs and motions,
the love which they can no longer show by deeds. Let us pity Him, I
pray you, for He is our own flesh and blood, and it is for our sins,
not His own, that He is shamefully slain. O ye who up till now have