My imagining’s too feeble
E’en Thy shadow here to trace;
But, if we must sing Thy glory,
Feeble mortals, to adore Thee
In a worthy attitude,
We must rise to Thee to wreathe Thee,
Lost in distance far beneath Thee,
And—shed tears of gratitude.
—Translated by J. K. Stallybrass, in The Leisure Hour, London, 1870, May 2.