Nisibis 11

The son of his voice. Your discipline is the mother of childhood. Her blow is that of a striker which roused from sleep the youths, and they became wise. Discipline: praise to your chastisement. The medicine of your chastisement, when it suffices for her, while the weak ones are confident in her limbs, they have multiplied and become strong. Much did the hand of my Lord do for the sick, for she is the hidden physician of your pains and the healer of your lives. Very gentle is the finger of your chastisement, which with love and compassion feels his wounds, so that he who is ill may be healed. Very sweet and beloved is her razor to the wise; she places it sharp in his strong love, and it consumes negligence. Very fierce is her anger toward him who is a rebel; her poisons are remedies for the fool who delights himself in the luxury of his members. Very much does her bandage press him for her razor, when it descends, the sister from between the two gives birth to health. Very fierce is her anger, and her wrath is sweet, and her bitterness sweetens the bitter ones, so that they may become sweet. The cause of idleness is your companion to the slack; the cause of profit is your rod toward the lowly, so that they may become merchants. The cause of our strength is your chastisement; the cause of our weakness is your goodness, which erred in our instruction. The rebellious were paid back because of your goodness, for when their sinews were slack, their faults were strong, and their falsehoods were lies. Chastisement repaid him who greatly lied in her; with her sister, the daughter of the free, she also restrained him, so that he would no longer be angry.

My chastisements, my Lord, are a bitter medicine like that of Egypt. My prayers are a peacemaker, for I was not like the door of your house, which I did not leave. Your cross, my Lord, which stood at my open doors, closed again the hidden places through which strangers passed. My inner doors were shut. The sea roared and cast up the tower at which you laughed. Iniquity raged and set up a reed at which you were ashamed. My fields are the thorns of its laughter. My prayers upon the walls were heard by my persecutors. The sun and its worshippers were ashamed at my being struck by your cross. The creatures cried out when they saw the sign. The truth that was with my erring ones on tottering walls, I approached and was crowned. The knot of truth was revealed to my erring ones. Through its garments I perceived it, and by its sins I learned its victory. A great cloud was for me after the Redeemer. The glorious and mighty ones who hovered over my altar entered into me with lamentations. My senses, my Lord, seven springs, were the sources of weeping; my tears flowed in small streams to the weeping of the infant. The streets were filled with sackcloth and ashes, troubled in the hour of the companion of that one who was in the desert before the calf. The beauty of the roses asked for bitterness and put it on, and as much as the deceivers were hidden, their fruits were revealed; their thorns bore fruit.