1. My Master, the garden of joy has not withered,
Nor has the zeal for excellence and generosity diminished,

2. And the wind is still gloriously blowing,
Shedding some of its light upon us,

3. So let us hurry to inhale its free air,
A monastery that knows no impurity.

4. If you were to taste it, my Master,
You would think it honeycomb from its sweetness.

5. The minister wants to employ me
And benefit me, refreshing my soul,

6. So today I come on foot, and tomorrow,
If he is true, I shall ride a steed.