Nisibis 50

On the sound of “Come, my Lord,” I wrote it. I will confess while I exist, I will not be as if I were not. I will confess in my life, I will not be dead in my life. He knocks, the vain one is dead who doubts, For the earth that was dark to its farmer was deceived. The crooked woman: in you, my Lord, my mouth rejoices, receiving praise. In you, my Lord, my mouth will enter, Praises from within silence. My mouth will not be barren of praise, Nor will my lips be stripped of thanksgiving. Your praise fell upon me. The creators created dust, And the earth-dwellers shaped the earth. Loved was the body of the living to you, like a son of the race, For the root was firm, And the fruits of his labors are branches of wandering. That the day not be obscured, And that the hours be careful. For the memorials in the festivals, Flesh clothes all. In the locusts, the branches give to the branch, he covers, He who moves all, who gives to all, all. He trembles like a leaf, And his time is already past. For the short one, the length of life is prolonged in praise. For how long is the span of sin? In it, the life without length is cut short. That by the Lord it is tasted, The root of your faith. Even the distant is near to you, In the mixture of love. The roots of sin will be bound in him, And the spans of his sins will be mixed in you.

The temple, my Lord, will be; that body to its seeker; to all its earth it will be; the soul, heir of glory. Not my Lord, will the body be, the cry; nor will the soul be for the stomach of the loss; and of the one who knocks, the light; of this, the name of the sacrifice. The lamp of your knowledge from evening in the morning shines; the sun comes in the warmth of its rising; it raises the cold and illuminates the dark. It is right that the one who confesses; to that light which illuminates all; that in the morning the lamp is extinguished; that the sun rises. The sun, new, new, makes; that in Sheol it illuminates the dark lamps; instead of death which is in all. It pours out the scent of its mortality; the living scent strikes all; in Sheol it blows; the dead rise from its life, new lives; that death in them dies. The type is that of the dead one; the scent of the buried one strikes; the dead of the day rise, lives from the ancient; a living scent blows from bones and enters the corpse. The mysteries of the one who enlivens all; Jesus interprets for me; the mysteries that were in Sheol; that from that dark lamp, a lamp shone; and when it cast, it set up the resurrection; it remained and sent witnesses to its coming. How, my Lord, your silence; not to you does the ear groan; for it does not touch anything; my mind from your concealment; the image is revealed and also clear; I have seen in your mystery that which is hidden, that is your reproach.