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,
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,
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.”