Can your wings, O angels, veil you from the torments of your mighty king and Lord?
Michael, for this you stood against the ancient foe. His words, "I will not serve", reveal the brutal blow.
Tremble, O wretched men here below, the one you so light respected, has turned his face to go.
His heart's blood poured out and neglected, by the children of all ages; prophets, fools, martyrs, sages has hated this great truth to know.
It was not armies that brought him low. It was not necessity.
It was reckless love that held him fast upon the wounding tree.
And now, my friends, who look upon this scene, open your hearts and weep for His humble majesty.
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