Loyal Awe

Who in Manresa can I sate? The glory is greater

For the pilgrim who is not great—the glory is greater.

My father must behind its walls be waiting; he is bound

And shackled and I must not wait—the glory is greater.

Where once in extinguishing embrace I toiled in black soil

Now I sow my ash at its gate—the glory is greater.

Will I satisfy through my denial’s imitation?

I know I need faith, not your fate—the glory is greater.

And, where will I greet him? Where is he who now makes his cell

In rock, graving in silverplate, “the glory is greater”?

“Beneath La Seu,” the troubadour cants with kisses the wind;

The breeze filling me to reflate—the glory is greater.

My father must within his well Jono be awaiting

To Exercise and calm his prate—the glory is greater.