The countenance of God is gazed upon by the unique,
After the soul is committed to the trials and tribulations,
After the body exhausts itself in prayer, while in absorption
Of blessings and divine help.
This road to the beholding or beatific vision shall be admired
By the priests who live among messengers and disciples,
Carrying wisdom from their bellies, watching the songs
Being played on the wind instrument, the instrument of joy.
They count on their fingers the prayers and supplications,
Willing to divide their treasure and pray forever.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem