Staurostichon: A Poem on the Mysteries of the Lord's Cross

I dispelled the elevated shadows of the night of Erebus that is, hell, the enemy having been triumphed over, he rushes headlong into the depths. But when the infernal snake pressed the Sibyl, he rolls the snares of deception in his venomous heart. When, just as the she-wolf, whom a dire gluttony rabid hunger drives to eat, guards the entrusted flock, the pastor the wolf rages more, although the wicked one hides his frauds and renews the war lurking in his breast, the snake no less pours out poison under a simulated peace. But who could snatch the students of the supreme Omnipotent from his frauds? It pleased him to summon the faithful more often, and more, as the inertia of the world grew cold.

Therefore, Francis, having been warmed by excessive love, the Assyrian that is, Francis, brought back the flaming stigmata on his dug-out limbs, a pauper on earth, but wealthiest in the palace of the ethereal Prince, a standard-bearer of rare justice, another descended from the empyrean seats, a guardian of nourishing virtue, a protector of the faith, an Iberian. On both sides, countless troops in varied clothing climbed the poles, Orcus roared in terror, and not only that, but the Sicilian also sent forth flames, and that one conspicuous for signs, the glory of the Picene people. Once, both the female sex, the Tuscan, and the Umbrian showed their faith, and the carried insignia, and also the Nar, white with sulfurous water, and ancient Reate. Why should I relate the frequent proclamations of the holy warnings?