I've fallen down, to the ground, and there I make nary a sound. So if you hear downtrodden plea, master, maker--it's only me.
You've carried me so far before; I've clung to you o'er and o'er...but, holy one, can't ignore this insolence anymore.
If I make my desperate plea; perhaps then, then you'll see...I fear the image in the mirror, because I know not what my image bears, and it's hard to dress like a man with hands you can't look upon.
But, 'if mercy falls upon the broken and the poor, dear Father, I will see you there on distant shores.'
The bells cry out far away; let their voices rise in loud lament, for the king heeds not my bended knee nor my lowborn head, and thus my heart lies full of dread.
O soul of mine, ungrateful dead, lift thine eyes to the hill; raise up your head; perhaps your king yet lingers there.
Or perhaps, my soul, you've lingered too long beneath the sun, and the king lies beyond.
Invisible, eternal, most holy art thou, who stir up the heavens and flash lightening in thine eyes. A storm goes before thee; pestilence in thy wake. Who shall stand before thee, when Everest doth quake?
I know not why my song bears this loud lament: But let the angels hear my song, and cry "holy" with me.
Who shall hear my weeping; to whom shall I mourn? The invisible cannot hear me; nor can an hear see his face.
Into the depths, then, O my soul, down to the greatest trench of the sea--cast thyself down, and drown. For who stands beside thee?
Bitter, my envious pride, so long in the making, so long to bring me shame! But should I not be humble, humbled shall I be. Then what choice have I, but to bend the knee, bend the knee to him whom I cannot see?
And if I die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. And maybe when the trumpet sounds, I'll hear the bride and groom say "Come."