When I am standing on my knees,
Beseeching, «O, Creator, please,
Redeem from hell!
And burn the passions of my soul,
Allow to drink Thy pleasure bowl.
Thou doest it well,»
Then fillest Thou my heart with love,
And raisest it this world above.
I mourn the sins,
Because they are my burden curs’d.
How can I be for Thee not lost?
My spirit spins.
Despite the Lord is merciful
(He loves me, His rebellious fool!),
I feel distrust.
I doubt constantly His ways.
I’m anxious of my future place.
Be not with dust!
At last, no matter, crown’d or won,
I’d be a dove, perhaps a stone,
Divine is bliss.
I shall thank Thee for every gift,
In spite of any soul’s shift.
Present me peace.
January 2019