O Thou whose light is aimed unto my heart,Wilt Thou not pity one in bonds apart?
O Thou to whom my spirit owes its love,My heart stripped bare, enraptured from above.
God pities me and pain doth crucify,These breezes are from flaming fire nearby.
They secretly contend upon my breast,Fire kindling here, and there cool Kawthar blest.
My life from passion flows like molten stream,My youthful heart doth boil and leap and gleam.
My Lord, Thou gavest me content and peace,A heart that pities is my world's increase.
My heart today hath borne a patient doom,My yearning—wilt Thou grant like grace tomorrow's bloom?
This love of Thine is fragrant, chaste, and pure,For love both sanctifies and doth endure.
When wilt Thou roam the meadow of desire,And utter hymns of majesty and fire?
When wilt its breeze upon thy curve descend,And thou remain in God, in radiance blend?
O Lord, it is enough that I may fleeTo mercy's shade, my spirit soaring free.
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