Shall my eyes follow thee from ‘cross the way?
Or shall I ask thee if thou will be mine?
I long to be thy maiden and obey
All that thou asks so that I might be thine.
Thy voice shames psalms that angels claim to sing.
‘Tis all I hear when my heart is distressed.
Thy soul is much more worshiped than a king.
‘Tis thee whom all the future shall call blest.
Yet I do not deserve to sing thy praise,
For my own soul is blacker than the night.
Though ‘tis but thou I’m yearning to embrace,
God cannot make me fit for thy delight.
And so I fear that I must be alone
Until the day thou steps down from thy throne.