Blind in the tumult of my soul

The passions, like a crowd, constrict my gaze;

I have no stature, no height

By which to obtain a lofty view.

Christ is coming, the whisper comes,

The multitude is pressing, I cannot see,

Seek, O my soul, the tree

Whereby you may behold the heavenly horizon.

Fear not the mocking crowd,

Rise above,

Ascend the wood, receive the sight of Christ;

To gaze on Him is Life,

My heart trembles in silent words, weeping,

“O Lord, my eyes are sinful,

Purify them in Thy Divine flame!

I am unworthy, Lord, yet please,

Grant unto me a glimpse of Thee;

This is enough, this is eternity.

Then let what may be, be –

Death, darkness, hell …

Even these shall be sweet and shine

In the vision of Thine unspeakable love.”

O Lord, measure of man,

Raise up my impoverished soul,

May I hear Thy tender voice calling me:

 “This day I must in your house dine.”

And thereby the fruits of repentance,

Restoration fourfold,

Whatever I have taken by sin and deception,

I will for rapture of Thee repay.

Only let these exquisite words,

Most dear in all creation,

Resounded from Thy sweet mouth to me:

 “This day salvation has come to this house

For he too is a child of God.”