Mortals as we are;
in quest of the Divine.

Oh, how our weary souls longeth for Thee!
How we yearn to be with Thine.
How we seeketh to understand Thy attributes,
That we may loveth you, Divine.

The world has naught in store for us
Wandering as foreigners we art,
Waiting for a sheer bliss of rest,
Until we reach the Promised Land.

In here we fret, suffer and toil,
Battling and struggling over lure
Nonetheless, we won’t surrender
As we remember our blessed hope.