Lent Poem 11 – Rondeau

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No victory, death, friends betray,
and devils dance at His dismay;
for while His heart doth beat no more,
the earth shall have its lusty whore
and lie with hell and get hell’s way.

So peaceful He, without decay
makes Sabbath from the fight today;
though He, beyond the veil, makes war.
His victory!

The tomb is cool without sun’s ray,
but hell is hot, and that’s His stay.
He enters with angelic corps,
ensuring death will reign no more;
And with one blow doth hell He slay:
His victory!

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