He who loves father, mother, more than God, Not reckoning His great gifts bestowed on man; He who the path of worldly gain hath trod, Publishes for himself damnation's ban: Woe, woe to that bad servant sunk in fraud, Who leaves the good and doth what ill he can! He who on this world seeks his joy to find, His talent hides in earth, perversely blind.
He who is grasping, proud, discourteous, base, Who dreameth not that he may come to want, Who seeks for flattery, praise, and pride of place, Lording it with high airs and arrogant; Who to the world gives all, and still doth chase Delight in songs and pomps exorbitant; Who in this life is fain to rest and sleep-- His talent in the earth lies hidden deep.
Woe for that servant who through negligence Hath hearkened not to the command divine! Yea, he shall hear the dreadful doom: Go hence! Go forth, accursed, in endless fire to pine! There shall be then no time for penitence: Bound hand and foot with punishment condign, He shall abide among lost souls beneath, Where is great weeping and great gnashing of teeth.
O soul, so full of sins, what shalt thou do? Of all thy countless crimes abominable, Look to the end! Look to it! Hell for you Lies open, with damned folk innumerable! Whence thou shalt never issue, ever rue In vain remorse and pangs intolerable! Weep, soul, ah weep for thy most vile estate, Now that repentance need not come too late!
Seek in this life to feel sincere contrition, Before the judge so just and so severe Summons thee to his throne, for inquisition Into each sin, each thought that wandered here; There shalt thou find no merciful remission, But justice shall be dealt with truth austere; And he who fails shall go to burn with shame For ever, ever, in eternal flame.
Quis ex vobis centum oves habens, Si forte unam ex illis perdiderit, Nonne nonagintas novem dimittens Et illam querit, donec ipsam invenerit? Et cum invenerit, in humeros ponens, Gaudens, in domum suam cito venerit, And calls his kinsfolk and his friends to make Festival for the new-found wanderer's sake?
The soul, she is that lost and wandering sheep; Eternal God is the true shepherd: He Seeks her, lest on his lamb the wolf should leap, The fiend, who slays with guile and treachery. He spends his life, her safe to seek and keep, And leaves those ninety-nine in bliss to be; And when he finds her, makes great joy in heaven, With all the angelic host, o'er one forgiven.