Maria. Fear casts me down, I cannot bear the weight of thy paternal admonition.
Abraham. Dwell only on my love and thrust aside thy fear.
Maria. I cannot.
Abraham. Think, was it not for thee I left my little hermitage, and so far set aside the rule by which I lived that I, an aged hermit, became a visitor to wantonness, and keeping silence as to my intent spoke words in jest that I might not be recognised? Why then with head bent low gaze on the ground? Why hesitate to give answer to my questions?
Maria. The accusations of my conscience bear me down, I dare not raise my eyes to heaven, nor enter into converse with thee.
Abraham. Be not afraid, my daughter, do not despair; rise from this depth of misery and fix thy mind on trust in God.
Maria. My sins in their excess have brought me to depths of desperation.
Abraham. I know thy sins are great, but greater than aught else is Heaven’s power of grace. Put by thy grief and do not hesitate to spend the time vouchsafed to thee in living in repentance; divine grace overflows, and overflowing washes out the horrors of wrong-doing.
Maria. If I could entertain the hope of grace I should not be found wanting in repentance.
Abraham. Think of the weariness that I have suffered for thee; leave this unprofitable despair, nought in this world is so misleading. He who despairs of God’s willingness to have compassion, ’tis he who sins hopelessly; for as a spark struck from a stone can never set aflame the ocean, so the bitterness of sin must ever fail to rouse sweet and divine compassion.