With my soul, I bow before You, O Infinite Creator,
When I speak Your Name, I belittle You,
And, with my every thought, I belittle You with mine –
What is the mind able to think before the open sea of Your spaciousness?
What can the tongue say, when it must remain silent
Before Your awesome mountains and chasms?
Before Your immeasurable height and width,
Before Your straight places, slopes, depths and distance
And closeness, O God; O yes, even closeness!
And still, more miraculous, Your humble lowliness!
You, as a man, lowered Yourself into our lowliness,
Lowered and constrained Yourself into a mortal valley,
That You raise the valley to the heavenly firmament,
And worn-out creation to turn into new.
Of all the characteristics, Your lowliness
Halts my thought, You bind my lips!
What can I think, what can I say
About the hungry, thirsty and crucified God?
What can I say to You, the richest One,
That, because of me, You became the poorest One?
Let the tongue keep silent; let the tears speak;
Save, with Your mercy, what Your thought created.
