With a glance at us who sit by the way He goes riding by: Conceive, if Thou canst, my soul’s dismay sore distraught am I.

What have I to tell of the lovely fair unto anyone? With a gaze as swift as a spark in the air He is past and gone.

To the friend’s abode it is hard to tread and the road is far; but love rides high, and is quickly sped on the back of a star.

What cause to despair, though the circling sky be wrapped in a veil? It will pierce a rock, the audacious eye, and it cannot fail.

Our sprinkled dew is an ocean wide, and the sky its shore; let a lone wave break, and its swelling tide shall yet higher soar.

When Thou shalt stand with Him face to face, do not lift thine eyes; for sight is vain in that holy place, and the vision dies.

How should I weep, though sorrow sears? For my broken heart is borne on the flood of my bitter tears, and wi1l soon depart.