I. I long for Thy summons,
O flawless Gem, who gav'st the wealth of Thine own roseate feet,-
By the kite-banner'd King unseen,- and here mad'st me Thine own!
My darkness drive far off; say 'hither come'! The grace to gain
That calls me there to dwell, BEHOLD, O SIRE, MY SOUL HATH YEARN'D! (4)
II. Weary of the flesh
I not endure to wear this garment of the flesh,- of joints
And bones compact,- with fatness filled,-covered with skin! O King,
Call me! To men of every sort, as fits their case Thou com'st
Ambrosia rare, ah, Thee to see, BEHOLD, O SIRE, I YEARN! (8)
III. Let me hear Thy call.
Call me, my King, that this poor frame, with vileness fill'd, may die!
Thou 'Dancer,' Guru-gem, Who guarding makest me Thine;
O God by gods unreach'd! Civan! Look on my face awhile.
For Thee, to hear Thee call, BEHOLD, O SIRE, MY SOUL HATH YEARN'D! (12)
IV. I wait in humble hope.
This walking cell, with loathy filth filled full, contemptible,
Clings to me, and afflicts my soul! Hail to Thee, mighty Lord!
Broken, subdued, and melted, looking ever for Thy light,
Thy blest feet's flower to gain, BEHOLD, O SIRE, MY SOUL HATH YEARN'D! (16)
V. Where are the old joys?
Within this frame is loathsome; and without skin-covered sores,
Sore grief! Thou Rider on the Bull! Bedeckt with ashes white,
Stooping to me, Thou cam'st, and mad'st me Thine; Ambrosia rare!
For word of tenderness, BEHOLD, O SIRE, MY SOUL HATH YEARN'D! (20)
VI. I long for the life of heaven,
Weary, mere dog, I cannot here abide. Take back earth's joys
Thou gav'st, O Thou whose roseate teet-flowers heaven's sons know not!
Thou know'st no bond! Thy face's light, the gleaming of Thy smile,-
To see, BEHOLD, O SIRE, HOW EAGERLY MY SOUL HATH YEARN'D! (24)
VII. I long to praise Thee there
Thou Infinite, Whom earth and heaven extol, Thou Light superne,-
Thou cam'st to make me Thine! Give me the world of final bliss;
Thy thousand names I'd circling sing. Thee mighty Lord to praise,
Th' Ambrosia ever new, BEHOLD, O SIRE, MY SOUL HATH YEARN'D! (28)
VIII. My whole being worships Thee.
With hands Thee worshipping, embracing close Thy jewell'd feet,
And placing still unwearied on my head, 'Our Lord, our Lord,' I cry;-
'My Teacher,' with my mouth I cry. Like wax before the fire,
King of Aiyarr'! BEHOLD, O SIRE, MY MELTING SOUL HATH YEARN'D! (32)
IX. When shall I join Thy saints?
To cast quite off this sinful frame; to enter Civan's home;
To see the Wondrous Light, that so these eyes may gladness gain;
O Infinite, without compare! Th' assembly of Thy saints
Of old, to see, BEHOLD, O SIRE, THY SERVANT'S SOUL HATH YEARN'D! (36)
X. Thy voice stills passion
Caught in the net of passion fierce by those whose eyes shine bright,
I languish'd,- I a cur,- O light of truth! and saw no help.
Thou Half of Her with gentle foot!- Thou only One! To hear
Thee say with coral lips, 'Fear not, 'BEHOLD, O SIRE, MY SOUL HATH YEARN'D! (40)