Arise, O my rapture, at dawn I exclaim,
Go seeking the face of my love, the King,
I thirst at the thought of Him, burn as with flame,
And chatter like swallow upon the wing.

No gifts can I bring save of heart or of wit,
My cause to my lips I can only trust.
Desires my Redeemer a ritual fit,
How should I suffice who am based on dust?

When I with my self seek communion, I shrink,
Were I mightier far, I should still be small,
Soul and strength in adoring Thee faint and sink,
Yet sing Thee I must till the end of all.
Translated by Israel Zangwill