In prayer prone before my King,
I bend to Him my face and knee,
My heart His sacrifice shall be,
My tear His liquid offering.

In waiting for the sun's caress,
In watching for the morning light
To scatter all my godless night,
My soul consumes in weariness.

Though He delays, shall I not start
To seek His face? Nay, of a sooth
I yet shall find his word of ruth
Bring comfort to my bitter heart.

The promise Zechariah gave,
How sweet it tastes in this our woe!
My soul shall bid my heart to know
I trust the living God to save.
Translated by Israel Zangwill