الجِسمُ مِنّي سَقيمٌ شَفَّهُ النَصَبُ

وَالقَلبُ ذو لَوعَةٍ كَالنارِ تَلتَهِبُ

My body is frail, worn down by tribulation,

My body is frail, worn thin by suffering,

My heart consumed with yearning like blazing fire.

And my heart holds anguish blazing like a fire.

إِنّي هَويتُ حَبيباً لَستُ أَذكُرُهُ

إِلّا تَبادَرَ ماءُ العَينِ يَنسَكِبُ

I fell for a lover I no longer recall

I fell for a beloved whom I cannot mention

Unless tears spill from my eyes like pouring rain.

Without my rushing tears beginning to pour.

البَدرُ صورَتُهُ وَالشَمسُ جَبهَتُهُ

وَلِلغَزالَةِ مِنهُ العَينُ وَاللَبَبُ

His face is the full moon, his brow the sun,

The full moon is his likeness, the sun his brow;

His eyes and lips gazelle-like in their beauty.

He has the gazelle's dark eyes and graceful neck.

مُزَنَّرٌ يَتَمَشى نَحوَ بيعَتِهِ

إِلَهُهُ الإِبنُ فيما قالَ وَالصُلُبُ

He walks robed to his church, his people's god,

Girded with a belt, he walks toward his church;

The divine Son, as scriptures and crosses tell.

His God, as he professes, is the Son and the Cross.

يا لَيتَني القَسُّ أَو مُطرانُ بيعَتِهِ

أَو لَتَني عِندَهُ الإِنجيلُ وَالكُتُبُ

Would that I were the priest or church attendant

Oh, would that I were the priest or bishop of his church,

Or that I had the Bible and holy books!

Or that I were the Gospel and scriptures in his hands.

أَو لَيتَني كُنتُ قُرباناً يُقَرِّبُهُ

أَو كَأسَ خَمرَتِهِ أَو لَيتَني الحَبَبُ

Would that I were an offering brought before him

Or would that I were the offering he presents,

Or the wine of his chalice—would that I were the crumbs!

Or the chalice of his wine, or the bubbles on the brim,

كَيما أَفوزَ بِقُربٍ مِنهُ يَنفَعُني

وَيَنجِلي سَقَمي وَالبَثُّ وَالكَرَبُ

Then I might gain closeness that benefits me,

That I might win a closeness to him that avails me,

Dispelling my illness, distress and anxiety.

And my sickness, sorrow, and distress would clear away.