A free spirit I have, and seek no praise for it;
But I have a plaint, O Lord, it may or may not touch Thee.
This expanse of skies, this wind—swept earth, and this handful of dust!
Is Thy pleasure to create, O Lord, a blessing for those
I am a sinner, O Lord, banished from Thy sight,
But it was I, not the angels, who peopled Thy desolate earth.
That frail, unshapely sphere, that vacuous world of Thine,
Was beautified by me, made worthy of Thy power.
In ecstasy, in passion, the angels are not my equals,
It needs a yearning heart; it needs an aspiring soul.