With disfigured face,
I wept in such disgrace.
Eyes opened, pale complexion
Lies believed, lost reflection.
I am of Adam’s race,
a vagabond in time and space
begging for scraps of grace.
Upon thorns and thistles, I laid
hidden among fig tree shade,
thievery my newfound trade.
Rags like leaves covered my shame.
O what a wretch, a fugitive I became!
all for fruit my God forbade.
I heard the Sound,
but did not turn around.
Merciful Love filled the air,
yet this Presence I could not bear.
Tender footsteps in the garden,
My Sovereign sought me to pardon.
In fear and lamentation,
distress, desperation—
fretful isolation
—I limped away
that grievous day
and in darkness I lay.
“O son of Adam, where art thou?”
God spaketh unto me,
“where the health,
where the wealth,
where the dignity
that upon thee
I did endow?”
Tearful eyes
now raised to the skies,
I saith unto He,
Who from lowly clay created me,
“Father, I have sinned against heaven,
I have sinned before Thee, seventy times seven.
No longer can I be called Thy son,
treat me as a slave for this deed I have done.”