Lord of the cloud and fire,
I am a stranger, with a stranger's indifference;
My hands hold a pilgrim's staff,
My march is Zionward,
My eyes are toward the coming of the Lord,
My heart is in your hands without reserve.
You have created it,
Keep from it every opposing foe,
crush in it every rebel lust,
mortify every treacherous passion,
annihilate every earthborn desire.
All faculties of my being vibrate to your touch;
I love you with soul, mind, body, strength,
might, spirit, affection, will,
desire, intellect, understanding.
You are the very perfection of all perfections;
All intellect is derived from you;
My scanty rivulets flow from your unfathomable fountain.
Compared with you the sun is darkness,
all beauty deformity,
all wisdom folly,
the best goodness faulty.
You are worthy of an adoration greater than
my dull heart can yield;
Invigorate my love that it may rise worthily to You,
tightly entwine itself round you,
be allured by you.
Then shall my walk be endless praise.