Listen, my friend! He gave me His rosary as a token of His love, but alas!
I failed to take care of it and lost it! I was unworthy.
I have no hope to recover those precious beads by groping in my blindness.
To be so lucky one must have donated valuable gifts to the poor in one's past lives, which I have not.

I ought to have treasured it in my heart but I held it in my hand to make a show of it.
So no one else is to blame; I myself am responsible for such grievous loss.
To show one's treasure is to lose it; impatience leads to imperfection;
people keep lids on their kettles so that the rice may be cooked perfectly.

Since I have lost this token, I go, like one out of wits, from shop to shop without meaning to buy or beg anything.
(Those who go from faith to faith grasp none.) How can I explain my lapses, slips and falls?
How can I face Him during the day?
And I cannot go to Him alone also in the dark, dangerous night.