Nisibis 70

O the bitterness, my brethren, of this cup of death which makes even the mourners drunk, who are drenched in tears. Blessed is he who brings the dead to life by the burial of the dead. Even the esteemed priest who lamented and wailed over his beloved who departed, for he boasts in his love, a limb that remains upon its partner that was severed. And his custom and his prayer are like those of the night, which resemble Abraham the comforter, who offered the fruit of his compassion for the sake of his Lord to death. This is the true pillar, which bore weight among the people, while the lightnings of pains struck it, and its truth was not shaken. Behold, the vintner, when he saw the fruit on its barren vine, a cluster that had become for the vintage, like a firstfruit he offered it, and when he opened it again, it was wondrous. The vintner who plucked it brought the grape to the owner of the vineyard. Zakkai offered his friends, and the tree of his love, and raised it, and was not wearied by his pain, for his faith supported him. For his wine of death is the one that is troubled in pain, making his sharp ones drunk with tears, and his thirsty ones with weeping. Good, therefore, is the revealer, the great example who opened, who offered by the sword the treasure of life to its Lord. He stretched out his right hand, opened and offered a sacrifice. The dove saw his form, which was bitter, and his heart at her voice. It was fitting for the priest who is pained by the blood of his people, that he might be an example for his Lord who is pained by his own blood. All who are worthy in love and victorious in the truth of righteousness, as in a dream they see their beloved who has passed away.

For his companion in his dream beheld a vision of death and morning came and revealed it from the bitterness of the dream how it resembles the future to him who lies sleeping and death resembles the dream also resurrection resembles the morning Laugh at the truth in the likeness of a mirror in a dream and behold the likeness of death that like a dream it is a fantasy For the eye that sees is foolish an hour that has no morning and it thought concerning death that the hour would endure forever The eye of hope, if it stands, can see in secret that hour of death which in that morning is null The wondrous fragrance flew forth of that treasure of life in the body, the house of the soul which went out from it and was adorned its many beauties and splendors Of the temple of love it is that of the spirit which drinks from the cup and it finds peace The sound of the shofar resounds to the weary mourners Arise, sing, and praise before the bridegroom with voice A tumult was in the mouths of those opening the graves One to another for the feast with their members Glory he gave with his voice Glory to you who brought Adam when he was pure Glory to you that by the taking you lowered his pride Thanks to him who lowers and thanks to him who warms And also my lyre praised in its resurrection its Lord