A poem by Gregory of Nazianzus
(trans. Brian E. Daley, SJ)
Where’s the injustice? I was born human–well and good!
But why am I so battered by life’s tidal waves?
I’ll speak my mind–harshly perhaps, yet still I’ll speak:
Were I not yours, my Christ, this life would be a crime!
We’re born, we age, we reach the measure of our days;
I sleep, I rest, I wake again, I go my way
With health and sickness, joys and struggles as my fare,
Sharing the seasons of the sun, the fruits of the earth,
And death, and then corruption–just like any beast,
Whose life, though lowly, still is innocent of sin!
What more do I have? Nothing more, except for God!
Were I not yours, my Christ, this life would be a crime!
