Having prayed at Your gate,
Myself I deceive...
What You wish, please give to me.
The play of Creation, a cosmic assembly,
It's Your composition, my Lord Holy,
Same feat only for the sake of everybody.
Everybody knows You as their own;
Yourself they demand in happiness and sorrow.
Heeding no impeding wall's embargo,
They set aside vanity.
Will I crave even what I don't apprehend?
What's the purpose and to what extent?
My intellect is imperfect, I confess;
Please consider carefully.
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What You give, I will accept... no longer will I beg.
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