And at these last verses Jesus enters the temple; and having gone up into the pulpit, he begins to preach and to say with a loud voice, "Homo quidam peregre proficiscens vocavit servos suos et tradidit illis bona sua." Now comes Magdalen with her company, and her young men prepare for her a seat before the pulpit, and she in all her pomp takes her place upon it, regarding her own pleasure, nor paying heed as yet to Jesus. Afterward, Jesus looks at her and goes on preaching, always keeping his most holy gaze bent upon her; and she, after the first stanza of the sermon, looks at him, and her eyes meet those of Jesus. Then he goes on preaching, and says as follows:
A certain lord who on a journey went, Called unto him each of his serving men, And of his goods gave them arbitrament: To one he dealt five talents, to one ten, To another two, to try their heart's intent, And see how far they should be careless; then Unto the last he left but one alone: According to their powers, he charged each one.
And when he had departed, instantly That servant unto whom he gave the five, Went forth, and laboring with much industry, Increased them, and therewith so well did thrive That other five he gained immediately, To render when his master should arrive; He who received but twain, did even so, And added to his sum another two.
But he on whom one talent was bestowed, Went forthwith and concealed it in the soil: Careless, unthankful for the debt he owed, While he hath peace, he seeks but strife and toil: Called like his fellows in that lord's abode, He answers not, but doth himself despoil; And, as a worthless steward, hides away The money of his master day by day.
Woe to thee, slothful servant and remiss, That hast thy talent buried in the ground! When reckoning comes, thou'lt yield account for this Nay, think how stern and rigorous he'll be found! Weep, then, in time for what thou'st done amiss, Before the trumpets of the judgment sound: O soul, I tell thee thou hast gone astray, Hiding thy talent in the earth away!
He who on earth sets his affections still, Forgetful of the promised heavenly treasure; He who loves self more than his Maker's will, And in ill-doing finds continual pleasure; He who remembers not that sin must kill, Nor thinks how Hell will plague him above measure; He who against himself makes fast heaven's gate; Hideth in earth his talent till too late.