Obstinate are the trammels, but my heart aches
when I try to break them.
Freedom is all I want, but to hope for it I feel ashamed.
I am certain that priceless wealth is in thee,
and that thou art my best friend,
but I have not the heart
to sweep away the tinsel that fills my room.
The shroud that covers me is a shroud of dust and death;
I hate it, yet hug it in love.
My debts are large, my failures great, my shame secret and heavy;
yet when I come to ask for my good,
I quake in fear lest my prayer be granted.